


Forgotten Boys

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Forced Orgasm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Memory Alteration, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody expected that Hawke would give Fenris back to Danarius when he demanded it. </p><p>Fewer expected that he would also give away Anders.</p><p>Danarius, on the other hand, couldn't be more delighted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ! ! ! SERIOUSLY YOU MUST READ THIS FIRST ! ! !
> 
> This fanfic, at the consent and blessing of Nikki66 here on AO3, is being posted as a slight AU from her spectacular fanfic known as NEED, which can be found here http://archiveofourown.org/works/7862353
> 
> It is HIGHLY FUCKING RECOMMENDED that you read that one first! It's a little bit of a lengthy fic, but it's not only the best Fenders fanfic I've ever read, it's also incredibly relevant to this fic, and some part of this fic will reference that one. If you don't read that one first, you're going to be very lost in some parts when it goes on about Need and slaking and what have you. 
> 
> That being said, this fic is not a literal continuation of that fic. It's an AU in the sense that unlike in NEED, Danarius is not dead, but rather he lifted the magic off of Fenris from a distance through ritual, so that the demon magic would settle back in. Apart from that, everything that happens in NEED, chapters 1-9 is more or less canon in this fic. 
> 
> So yeah! BIG thanks to Nikki, and PLEASE go read that fic before you read this one! That is all, carry on~
> 
> ===
> 
> This fic is written with the help of my wonderful good friend Nik, who runs an Anders roleplay blog right on over here: http://selapetrae.tumblr.com/

"Take him."

 

Fenris' ears are ringing. "What? Hawke!"

 

Eight years. Eight years spent at this man’s side. Eight years fighting and bleeding and laughing with him. Eight years all boiling down to this one singular moment, rocking him so severely he can only stand there dumbfounded and watch it happen without a fight.

 

As Danarius and Hawke haggle prices on his life, Fenris staggers back against a table. "Don't do this, Hawke," he demands, voice gravelly and pained. "I need you--"

 

"The only thing you need is a swift backhand across the mouth," Hawke accepts a pouch of gold from Danarius. "I'm sick of your constant whining and complaining and badmouthing everybody who ever tries to help you. Maybe Danarius can whip some manners back into you."

 

Fenris can’t feel anything. Ice sweeps through his veins, terror rooting him to the spot as he watches helplessly, as he’s sold back into slavery by a man he thought he could trust.

 

"No!" Anders' voice suddenly rang out in the tavern as he moved himself in front of the elf and between Hawke. "I will not allow him to be taken by anyone." Justice sprang to life, crackling in the air around them, causing brown eyes to glow blue and his magic to roar awake.

 

His staff swung above his head in a motion to set fire to everyone in the general vicinity besides Fenris and himself.

 

 _“No one will take him from his freedom!”_ It was Justice's voice that pulled from his lips before a sword pressed against his throat, hard enough to draw a little blood. Anders raised his head a little higher as another guard yanked the staff from his hands.

 

Fenris moves without thinking. Eight years, he’s known Anders. Eight years he’s fought with him, fought for him, fought to defend him. He’s hated him, attacked him, and more recently-- loved him.

 

No words could describe the subtle transition of their relationship over the year it took for Anders to lay hands within him and heal him of the affliction Danarius left him with. The sudden lifting of the capping magic, holding back the Need, had spelled death for Fenris. Or, at least it did, until Anders took it upon himself to save him.

 

The beautiful, terrible abominable messiah who _hated_ him like nothing else gave him the one thing Fenris never would have asked for from another person to save his own life-- his _flesh_. Anders freely gave over his body, committed his very skin to the promise that he would save Fenris.

 

Did anything come of it? Was it worth it? He’d thought so, before. The months that followed the year-long process of curing the detestable magic rooted in Fenris’ very soul were both surreal and sublime. He’s not so sure, now. Now that his potential re-incarceration looms over his head like a black cloud. Fenris would never admit he cared for the mage, he would never admit he cared for any mage, but when he saw Anders’ legs kicked out from under him, he attacked without thought of consequence.

 

Knocked down to his knees, Anders comes back to his senses to find Fenris beside him, both hands held back behind his back by two guards. He starts to glow blue, ready to phase through the guards and get to Danarius, when the magister raises his hand.

 

"Kill the mage."

 

"Wait!" Fenris roars, his markings subduing. "Don't kill him-- he isn't involved in this--"

 

Danarius grabs Fenris roughly by the face. "He involved himself when he attacked my troupe, little wolf."

 

"I'll go with you," Fenris gasps desperately, brows furrowed and teeth bared. "I won't fight, just-- let him _go--"_

 

“That was without question,” Danarius sneers, crushing Fenris’ cheeks against his teeth. “You have no right to be making deals, I’ll--”

 

"Take them both," Hawke's voice rings out, capturing the attention of Danarius, Anders and Fenris. "I'm sick of their constant squabbling. They should be entertaining for you, if nothing else. Put them in a ring with their hands tied behind their backs and see who draws blood first."

 

Danarius' eyes light up, while Fenris turns a murderous, betrayed stare to Hawke. "That's very generous of you, Champion. I'll see to it that you're well compensated. Subdue the mage." Anders is clocked over the head by the hilt of a sword, hard enough to knock him wobbly, but not quite unconscious.

 

The surprise on Anders’ face made eyes as wide as saucers, he stared open mouthed and wild at Hawke. "You can't be... you can't be serious." The next thing he knows there's colors blossoming behind his lids as the hilt of a sword comes crashing down on the side of his head and he's dragged to his feet.

 

Anders stood there, held by the two guards with a slack faced sort of drugged look as he swayed from side to side. "You don't deserve to be called a hero, Hawke. You are nothing but a bastard with a sword and a--" He gasped when a fist slammed into his stomach, doubling over, the only thing that saved him from crashing to the ground were the guards holding him upright.

 

He glanced up at Fenris, mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'. The healer had tried so hard to keep him safe, to break him free of Danarius' chains.

 

But now, Fenris fights. He lashes out, lyrium brands glowing. He's not about to let Anders get sucked into the life he once had. No matter his opinions of the mage, he'll never let another person suffer that fate, even if he gets Anders killed in the process, it'll be a more merciful fate than being owned by Danarius. He lunges, hands outstretched, ready to shred Danarius apart, ready to destroy him, destroy everything--

 

Anders stared at the elf with a drowsy look, his blond hair had fallen free from it's bindings and lay around his face. Some of it stuck to the blood that had rolled down from his head wound, he could barely make sense of the scuffle. "Fenris." He whispered softly, trying to pull himself free of the guard's grip to reach him. "Fenris, st-stop. It won't do any good--"

 

A blade digs into Fenris’s belly, halting his attack.

 

He wheezes and slumps forward to his knees, dropping to his side and curling up at Danarius' feet. He grips the dagger and pulls it out, teeth grit as blood comes up his throat, but he’s not finished fighting yet. Anders gave him _everything_ to save him, he would give him absolutely nothing less. Pain shooting through his body, he surges up to his knees, slashing out with the knife at whoever’s knees are closest by.

 

The knife is slapped effortlessly out of his hand and he's kicked back over onto his side, the armored toe of a boot digging into the wound and making him scream as Hawke turns and walks out of the hanged man. It was too late, Anders saw the knife slide into the elf's belly and he let out a howl of rage, shoving one of the guards away to try and reach Fenris.

 

“Fenris!” despite the headwound making him fuzzy, he continues to try and fight, to try and pull away from the guards. He’s saved Fenris once before from death, holding that terrible secret from Fenris himself, and he can do it again. But the next blow to the head dropped Anders to the floor unconscious.

 

Fenris is heaved up over the shoulder of one of the guards, bleeding down the man's front as his pauldron digs into his wound. They're carried from the tavern down to the docks, and thrown together in a tiny cell on a boat. Fenris tries to heave himself up onto his side, gripping his wound in his other hand, panting and choking up blood. "Anders--" he gasps thickly. "I'm sorry--"

 

The first thing Anders recognized were bars, large iron things that separated him from the other half of the filthy wooden room he’s stuck in, and a constant sway. A ship.

 

Anders rolled himself to the side with a groan, propping himself up against the wooden wall behind him to get a better bearing. It took several long foggy moments for him to finally stop his head from swimming and that's when he saw him. Fenris was on the other side of those bars.

 

"Fenris." He hissed out, scrambling on his hands and knees towards him despite the ache in his skull that makes his teeth hurt. "Fenris, you're bleeding." The blond clutched at the bars as he pressed his face against them. "Fenris, come here. I need to heal you, please." His arms shot through the bars to try and reach him, nose wrinkling in frustration.

 

Fenris had collapsed on the wooden floor of the cell, just too far past the span of Anders’ fingertips for the mage to touch him. He lets out one breath of a laugh, red stained lips pulling up into a bitter smile.

 

“Let me die,” he says, begs, hoarsely, his voice wet with the blood in his mouth. “It would be… better than this. I can’t go back… don’t ask me to go back.”

 

Tears rolled down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that covered the right side of his face. "Fenris...pPlease, come here." A sob broke free from his lips as he strained to reach him, bruising his pale skin against the bars as he tried.

 

"I don't want you to die. I tried so hard..." Anders didn't stop his voice from trembling. "I tried so hard to save you, don’t you remember all of that? Don’t you remember how I-- how we-- please, I don't want to lose you."

 

Dull green eyes roll up to look at Anders. Heavy, tired lids blink once. The struggle to open his eyes again after he blinks is evident. “You should… kill yourself, after I die,” Fenris says weakly, his tone gravely serious. “I don’t want you to suffer--” he tenses up, pain jolting through his system. “-- as I suffered…”

 

"No, Fenris. No, I can't do that." Anders tried to melt the beams with his hands, bus his headwound is making magic nigh impossible, and all he succeeds in doing is burning his own tender skin. He didn't seem to care as he reached for the elf once again, his face smashed as close against the bars as possible, reaching out so far his fingers ache.

 

 _"Please_ , don't make me watch you die." The blond ground his forehead against the bars. "We'll get out. We'll escape together, you and I. We're good at it. We can be free together. With your strength and my magic, we can do it. I know we can. Please, Fenris. Come here."

 

Fenris can feel the last of his strength seeping from his muscles as he looks up at the mage. This man who he hated, hated so fiercely it made every fiber in his body vibrate with the energy to continue hating him. This man who tried to save him when even _Hawke--_

 

Tears roll down from Fenris’ eyes, drip from his nose and chin, wounded and vulnerable and unable to control his emotions. He’s let Anders see him vulnerable a thousand times over the past year, suffering with the Need, suffering in pain until Anders would come with whispering fingers to chase away the ache. Anders never patronized him for his weakness then, he wouldn’t do it now. He sobs hoarsely, each gasp making his wound burn. He sobs like a child, turning to grind his forehead against the wooden floor.

 

“I didn’t think-- Hawke-- I never thought-- he could-- he would--” he can’t get his full thoughts out, gasping weakly and involuntarily between his words.

 

Anders shifted back to kick at the bars with his legs, his scrawny legs that barely dented the metal. "I won't let this happen to you. No one should have to go through what you did, not again. Never again." Pain shot up his leg and he winced painfully as his toes went numb.

 

"Fenris," The healer couldn't believe how many times that name had left his mouth recently. He'd never liked the elf, for the longest time, for so long he thought it would never change. They butted heads on everything, everything except freedom.

 

He tried to forcibly shove himself through the bars but for once he wasn’t skinny enough to fit. At Fenris’ words, he crumples. "...I know." He could barely raise his voice above a whisper.

 

"I can't believe he did. I never expected Hawke to be so…." Anders wiped his tears away. "He doesn't matter anymore. We'll get out of this together, just like we got you out of the last mess Danarius put you in, but you _need_ to let me heal you. _Please,_ Fenris--"

 

“Leto,” he raises his voice just barely enough to be heard, his eyes closed and his body shivering as his blood spills until he’s cold. He cracks his eyes open to look up at Anders. “My name was Leto.”

 

Anders brows furrowed for a moment before the realization dawned. "Leto," He repeats, licking over his lips and offering the elf a bittersweet smile. "My name was Waylon." He reached out a hand for Fenris one more time, his shoulder digging into the bars. "Please, Leto. I can't stand to see you like this. Please, let me heal you."

 

Fenris meets his eyes and feels a real, deeper spark of connection between them where he never thought one could grow past the impassioned ruttings they left behind months ago. Dust-covered names for forgotten boys. The tears continue to spill from his eyes as he reaches out and takes Anders’ hand, and uses the last of his strength to meet him halfway and drag his body over to the bars.

 

But the strain is too much for him, and the moment Anders’ hand comes down on his belly, he loses consciousness, going limp on his back with his face turned away from the mage.

 

Anders attempts to pull the elf closer to the bars so he can heal him, he can hear the guards stopping down the stairs. His hands glowed, Justice flared to life to heal him as quickly as possible. If Danarius had wanted Fenris alive, he wouldn't have left him like this. Fenris would have never survived, the wound was healed but... was the elf even living? Before he could check, hands clasped around his arms, pulling him away kicking and screaming.

 

"You son's of a bitch! Let me go!" He screamed as the chained him to the opposite of the wall, he yanked at them until his wrists were chaffed and bleeding. "Leto! Leto, please!" Anders hoped the blood would help him slip free from his bonds but it was of no use, he was pinned and he couldn't tell if the elf was dead or alive.

 

"Please, don't leave me. Get up! Move, do something!" He slammed his back against the wall in his anguish as tears soaked his cheeks and neck.

 

Anders wept until the tears ran dry, pulled and yanked at his wrists until blood streamed down his arms. Lashes clumped together, he screamed and cried; sobbed until his voice cracked from use and he could only whisper in exhaustion.

 

They travel like that for days. The only thing that lets Anders keep track of the passage of time is the tiny barred window up in the top of his cell, going from light to dark and back to light again. The constant swaying makes him nauseous, and by the third day, he’s completely lost his voice, and Fenris hasn’t moved an inch. He would draw his arms around his head to hide himself from everything, but his wrists were bound too tightly against the wall behind him.

 

There was no doubt in his mind that Fenris lay there dead, too stubborn to let Anders heal him right away, too frightened-- Maker, he was so frightened. He’d never seen Fenris cry like that.

 

Leto. He has to remind himself. His name was _Leto_. He deserved to be remembered by the name that nobody new. That nobody touched with impurity.

 

When the ship docks on the fourth day, he’s so dehydrated he’s close to death, and he doesn’t have a stitch of strength in his muscles to fight as they unshackle him and shove him through the corridor of the ship, leaving Fenris behind where he lay.

 

It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that comes from a person drained of all hope. For days, Anders stared at the elf's prone body with a sense of despair. He had tried so hard to keep Fenris alive that he'd come to feel for the other. Nobody with a heart can give that much of themselves to a person without feeling protective of them. Nobody can do what he had to do to save Fenris the one time the Need was too much for him and his body gave out, without feeling a connection for the man. They were constantly battling one another in Kirkwall but it had been less sharp than before. He could still remember that little smile, just once on his lips and now he was dead.

 

Anders didn't move when he was unshackled, he could barely get to his feet as they shoved him through the corridor. Eventually, the guards had to carry him under his arms, letting his feet slam into each and every step as they ascended. He squinted as sunlight blinded his vision, ducking his head down so his hair covered his eyes.

 

Dried lips, cracked and bloody tried to say something. Anders needed someone to go check on Fenris, he needed to know if the elf was still alive. Nothing else mattered but Fenris.

 

He’s bathed in water so hot it burns his skin and leaves him red, shackled in a collar that drains him of his connection to the fade, which locks Justice away, robbing him of his only real chance for escape. Maybe Fenris was on to something when he spoke of killing himself. It wouldn’t be too difficult to bite off his tongue.

 

The waiting is the worst. He doesn’t know what Danarius wants with him, he doesn’t see him for days. He tries to refuse food and water, to waste away before Danarius can put his hands on him, but he’s forcefed by armored hands, impossible to bite and chase away. The food was shoved down his throat, he could tell the guards were secretly enjoying it. The sound of their laughs were terrible when he choked on the broth or spit up some of the water.

 

Anders hated it. The humiliation of being bathed, shaved clean from all of his hair like some sex slave. Oh, but he looked like one when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, when they dragged him away by a chain attached to the collar that took away his magic. That took away Justice. This was no better than the circles, this was... this was worse.

 

He’s stripped nude, stripped of every possible defense against the ultimate vulnerability. Locked in a little dark room on a chain hooked to his locked collar, sitting in a pile of rotten hay, it certainly gives him time to think. To think about Hawke, in particular.

 

This wasn't the first time that Anders had been in isolation but he didn't have a cat as a friend anymore. He didn't have anything but the haunting memories and the ghost of Fenris’ touch. There was no doubt in his mind that the elf was dead, no doubt that Hawke went about his daily routine not even sparing a thought for either one of them.

 

If he ever got out of this, Hawke was dead. He would hunt down that bastard and make him pay for everything he'd done. The thoughts drifted through him of what Danarius might use him for as he stared at a wall, counting the stones again.

 

Forty six. Forty six stones.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the love of shit don't read this chapter if you didn't read and fully grasp the tags 
> 
> There's some no-holds-barred dark horrible and CLEARLY TAGGED crap in this fanfic, please come to terms with that early on. 
> 
> Hate will be made into shoes.

When Anders is drawn out of isolation, all he knows is that it is some time later. He has no idea how much time has passed, only that he’s gotten so used to the cold that his naked body doesn’t shiver anymore. He’s dragged by the chain around his neck, his hands bound beside his back as he’s carted up from the dirty basement cells into the rest of the estate. Ruby red and gold and black everywhere, lavish and disgusting to behold, when Anders knows so many by name suffering just for a single coin to buy a stale loaf of bread so their children don’t starve to death.

 

He’s tossed brutally down onto his knees in a room that appears to be some sick version of a throne room with a big chair at one end and a bed at the other. Danarius sits in his chair drinking wine noisily as Anders is tossed down at the end of the red carpet leading up to his throne. The door clanks shut behind them, trapping Anders inside with the magister and his ten armed guards.

 

“Come here, mage,” he beckons in a cold command, patting his thigh like he’s calling for a dog.

 

Anders couldn't feel anything anymore, and perhaps that was for the best as they lead him like a dog by his leash. He had spoken once about Tevinter, talking about how he wished all mages could be free like that but he'd never wanted it to be like this. Lavish and completely decadent, no one needed this kind of ornament unless they were overcompensating for something. He remembered the people back at the clinic, those who had nothing to pay him with but their gratitude and what little food they had.

 

His hair draped over his face when he was dropped to the floor, he stared at the crimson carpet rather than the Magister. Gaze shifting to look behind him when that heavy door shut and he realized that nothing mattered anymore. Hawke was gone, had given him to the wolves. Fenris was dead. Karl was dead, Hawke had betrayed him. Anders had nothing left to live for, those cold eyes lifted when Danarius called out for him and he obeyed.

 

His tongue flicked out against his lips as he shuffled himself across the carpet, scrapping his knees against it until he sat at the Magister's feet. I will bite you. _Don't mistake my silence for submission_.

 

“Good mage,” Danarius reaches out to pet Anders’ hair, chuckling when the mage jerks back out of his reach. “You want some wine? I bet you’re parched after drinking nothing but my soldier’s dirty bath water for the last week.”

 

He holds the goblet at Anders’ mouth height, wiggling it slightly. “Go on. A reward for crawling all the way over here like a good little bitch.”

 

 _Dirty bath water._ Anders' nose wrinkled at the thought, this could have been why the water had been so salty. The disgust was enough to make him shiver physically and clench his fists tight.

 

The temptation was too much, the healer wanted to taste that wine on his lips. He needed something, anything that could make him feel. His head tilted upwards, desperate lips parting for a drink.

 

But before his lips could make contact with the rim of the cup, the metal goblet slams against his cheek, knocking him dizzy. He falls over sideways, unable to catch himself on his bound hands, now drenched in so much expensive, pungent, sticky wine that it alone could have paid for every procedure he did for free in his clinic in Darktown for the poor who couldn’t spare a crumb to literally save their lives.

 

An unexpected whimper left Anders’ lips. He should have seen that coming and as he laid there with his head spinning; he cursed himself for being so trusting. His tongue dragged over his lips, tasting the wine that he would have never had anywhere else. It was too bad that it stuck to his hair and dripped down his pale skin like watered down blood.

 

“Stupid mage,” Danarius spits on him, tossing the goblet aside. The guards are all laughing at Anders now, chuckling at his misery. “He’ll learn his place soon enough,” he says conversationally to one of the guards.

 

Of course, they laughed. Anders would have laughed too in this situation, how stupid could he be for thinking Danarius would give him even an ounce of kindness.

 

“Alright. Bring him in.”

 

_Bring who in?_

 

The doors open again, and another naked form is thrown into the room. It takes Anders a moment to roll over with his hands bound, but he hears the thud of a body and a grunt of effort. He rocks up to his knees and turns his head to see--

 

It can’t be. Fenris is there, in a similar state, leashed and naked. His hands aren’t shackled, but Anders doesn’t have the time to question why, or even be relieved that he’s alive. The moment Fenris hits the ground he screams out in pain, writhing and panting. Anders can see his cock is hard and purple, shiny with precome and veiny. His body is flushed and writhing, shivering and sobbing. Anders knows exactly what this is. He’s seen it before.

 

When Anders’ eyes finally caught sight of who, he stopped breathing. Leto was alive, he was alive and... no. No, it can't be. His brows furrowed as he watched the elf squirm on the ground with the Need, the same one that he'd cured not so long ago.

 

His fingers itched to touch him, itched to relieve him of that pain he knew all too well. Anders could heal it again, he could fix everything if he could just touch him. The healer tried to pull his wrists free, tried to move himself closer to Fenris. A kiss, something. Anything to make the elf feel something other than pain. The anger rose in his chest as he turned his hate filled eyes towards Danarius.

 

"You gave it back. You put that disgusting shit back in him after I cured it."

 

“And it wasn’t easy, either,” Danarius claps his hands together like he’s dusting something filthy from his palms. “I thought if I removed the barrier keeping Fenris from losing his mind to the Need, he would die somewhere cold and alone and thinking about me.”

 

"Good, I hope it gave you pain to put it back in." Anders gritted his teeth together as he watched, the elf would need touch soon or he feared that Leto would either go unconscious or die once again. Subconsciously, he had already started to move towards the other only to be choked by that collar when Danarius yanked him away.

 

He grabs Anders by his chain, yanking him away from Fenris, where he’d started to crawl towards the elf, tugging him back on his shoulder. He fell once more to the wine soaked floor, staring up at the Magister through a curtain of blond hair. “Imagine my surprise when I come to find the only reason he’s alive is the mage the Champion gifted to me just a couple weeks ago. I couldn’t bear to break up such a cute couple.”

 

The healer wanted to argue that they weren't a couple, that they were enemies that had begrudgingly accepted each other because it was needed, but it would do no good. Anders wouldn't even have believed his own words.

 

Fenris’ anguished screaming makes up the backdrop to Danarius’ cold words as the pain consumes his body from head to foot. Danarius chuckles. “I may have spoken too soon, though. It looks like he might not make it very much longer without touch.”

 

"Leto," He hissed again, attempting to jerk his chain free so he could crawl back towards the elf. Anders strained against the leash, trying desperately to reach Fenris before it was too late, choking himself in the process.

 

“His name is _Fenris,_ ” Danarius hisses, yanking Anders down by his chain. “And you would do good to remember it. Hm, I should give you a new name, too.” he grabs Anders by the chin and lifts his face up to look him over, tipping his face from side to side. When Anders tries to snap at him, he slaps the mage across the face, and then grabs his cheeks again to look at him. “Hmm. Benesol.”

 

He sits back in his throne, spreading his legs comfortably. “If you are the one who cured my Fenris, then you know what this Need entails. I had to work around your filthy magic to tie him back to me. If you don’t want him to die, I suggest you put your mouth to good use, Benesol.”

 

Anders yelped when he was yanked down by his chain once again, he would no doubt have bruises around his neck from this later. His lips curled in disgust when the Magister lifted him up to stare at his face, golden freckles dusted his cheeks. A couple of lashes were pale in comparison to the rest, gold instead of black. His teeth bared as he leaned forward to bite at a finger, only to be met with a stinging cheek. _Benesol_. It sounded like some kind of potion for a sickness, he hated it.

 

His gaze left Fenris when the Magister explained the Need (as if he needed to) and landed upon Danarius' robes. Anything that the Magister felt, Fenris would feel but he wouldn't be able to reach the bastard's cock through his robes. Fortunately, Anders was well versed in getting robes open with his teeth from all the times that he and...

 

No, he would not think about Karl at a time like this. The blond waddled forward on his knees, his face buried into the robes as he sought out the fasteners. He knew full well that it looked like he was nuzzling Danarius' cock, he knew it was humiliating but he would try anything to stop Fenris' screams.

 

“That’s good,” Danarius praises once Anders gets his mouth around his half-hard cock, drenched in too much perfume to hide how little he truly bathes. Anders gags the instant the magister’s cock reaches the back of his throat, A shudder of repulsion ripples through his entire body and his instinct screams to spit out Danarius’ cock, back away, double over and vomit.

 

But then he hears Fenris’ wail of agony again, and he hears the guards laugh as they watch Fenris twist in pain, suffering with the almighty torture of burning up with the Need, unfulfilled and built up.

 

Disgust made every muscle in his body clench and it took everything he had not to bite down on Danarius' cock. His eyes squeezed shut and he thought of what this would do for Fenris, of how it would ease his pain. Anders counted to three before he began to bob his head, hollowing out his cheeks on the way up before sliding back down. He had to keep reminded himself over and over again that this was for the elf, a man he used to hate with every inch of his being.

 

His fingers rubbed against the chains around his wrist as some kind of tactile distraction while he worked, his tongue curling against the head of Danarius' cock.

 

The magister sighs in pleasure, sagging back in his seat and petting Anders’ filthy hair. A week in a dungeon with rotten straw as his only company didn’t exactly do wonders for his hygiene.

 

Sensing how tense Anders is, Danarius chuckles and grabs him by the hair, yanking him back off his cock so he can look him in the eye. “For the record, if you use any teeth, the elf will pay for it. I wonder how many stab wounds to the belly he could really take?”

 

When Anders’ mouth leaves Danarius’ cock, Fenris screams in agony. The split-second of faint pleasure he’d gotten from the connection between himself and Danarius was gone again too quickly. The magister chuckles, looking back out over Fenris’ writhing form, and twists Anders’ head by his hair to watch as Fenris writhes on the freezing cobblestone, wailing and screaming his pain.

 

“He’s hurting, mage,” he teases, keeping Anders’ hair in a stranglehold. “You know that Need only disappears once he and I have both reached our climax. I want you to beg me to suck my cock.”

 

Pain raced across his scalp when his head was pulled back, a strangled cry leaving his lips from the sudden pain but it's drowned out by Fenris' scream. His eyes faltered when Danarius spoke, his guilt written on his face because the Magister was right. He had been thinking about biting off that stinking cock and spitting it in the bastard's face as he screamed in agony.

 

It didn't take long for Anders to comply, not with watching Fenris squirming on the cobblestones in pain. "Please." His tongue flicked out against his plump and abused lips. "Fill my mouth with your thick cock, please." The blond opened his lips, tongue lolling out as if to receive it. No, it needed to be something better than that. His mind raced for anything that could have worked and it clicked, the one thing he was sure to work.

 

"Please let me suck your cock, Master. Your slave needs to feel you in his mouth. I crave your taste."

 

Impressed by how well his new pet is taking to his new lot in life, Danarius guides Anders’ mouth back over his cock. He keeps a firm hold on his hair, fucking the mage’s mouth now, with Fenris’ wails of anguish bouncing off the walls behind them. There’s no words to describe his screams, the sound of his tortured wails dig right into Anders’ soul past his sinew and bone.

 

He thought Fenris was _dead_. He’d spent the last week sitting in the dark with nothing to keep him company but his thoughts and regrets. He didn’t heal Fenris quickly enough, or if he’d only just reached out a little farther between those bars--

 

He hasn’t even had time to process the fact that he’s still alive. For the second time, just as brutal as the first, Anders has had to cope with Fenris’ sudden resurrection when he’d been certain the man was dead and beyond help. He doesn’t even want to think about the last time, secret dread bubbling up in his chest, heavy guilt weighing in his mind for what he had to do to save him--

 

He’s brought back to the forefront of his mind out of autopilot, out of that dark memory, when Danarius tugs on his chain again. There was no way to describe the feelings going through him right now, the mixture was so chaotic that it left him lightheaded. He didn't even hesitate to wrap his lips around Danarius' cock and give him exactly what he wanted. Every scream of anguish was met with a whine from Anders' lips, and tears rolled down his cheeks as the Magister fucked his mouth.

 

The thoughts of death, of Fenris' death, it only made him work harder to please Danarius. He would never let the elf die on his watch again even if it meant giving up his very soul to his new 'master'. Anders swallowed every single time that cock brushed against the back of his throat, humming to add vibrations. He was attempting to make the man finish faster so that he could do something about Fenris, if he was allowed to do something to Fenris.

 

Anders' eyes snapped open at the realization. Was he just wetting Danarius' cock so that he could fuck the elf? No, he couldn't think about that now. Not with how Fenris wailed and screamed in pain, he needed to be sated one way or another.

 

Danarius is clearly in pleasure, head back and expression rapturous. Anders is so much better at this than Fenris ever was, even when Fenris was trying his best, those damn elven teeth always got in the way, often enough that he nearly considered pulling the man’s damn teeth out.

 

This, however, is exquisite. Anders must be practiced, given his incredible technique, and while part of him wants to draw it out just to torture Fenris, the rest of him is far too selfish for that. He doesn’t even warn Anders before releasing over his tongue and down the back of his throat.

 

“Swallow,” he commands in a growl.

 

This was not the first time Anders had given a blowjob under duress but it was the first time he was doing it for someone else's benefit and it wasn't Danarius'. As a healer, he knew every single spot that would make a man tremble or melt if his tongue brushed against it. So, he used those to his advantage.

 

It took him three tries to actually swallow it, there was too much and his throat was so dry that it stuck to the back of his throat. He'd wanted to spit it out, all over the Magister's pretty robes but that was hard to do with a cock still in his mouth. So, Anders swallowed and licked until everything was clean.

 

He pulled back when he was allowed, gasping for breath and staring up at Danarius with a glassy gaze. Cheeks flushed from shame, lips red and plump with hair mussed from being pulled.

 

“Good boy. Good Benesol,” Danarius pets Anders’ hair with a condescending smirk. He snaps his fingers at one of the guards, who comes forward and produces a vial of oil. He roughly turns Anders around and shoves the tip of the vial inside his hole, tipping it up so it slides inside him and lubricates his channel without actually prepping him.

 

“Now,” he sets the empty vial aside. “Go over there, bend over, and let Fenris mount you.”

 

His teeth ground together as Danarius pet through his hair, whatever pride he had was quelled with Justice. He couldn't even hear the spirit anymore, couldn't feel him. Anders whimpered when the tip of the vial was pressed past his tight furl of muscles but he knew it would have nothing against what was going to come next. The Magister treated them like animals to toy with and torture at his leisure.

 

It took him a moment to get to his knees and shuffle over to the elf, he stared down at him for only a breath before turning and dropping his shoulders to the floor. His legs spread wide to accommodate Fenris, eyes squeezing shut but nothing would prepare him for what came next.

 

Fenris doesn’t even seem to notice Anders at first. It’s not until Danarius gestures for a guard to roughly grab Fenris and haul him up by the arm does he lay eyes on the prone mage. Flushed and trembling, wide green eyes zero in on the shiny, oiled prize between the mage’s legs.

 

“Let go of me!” Fenris howls, sounding bestial, the guard taking cues from Danarius to hold on tight. “Let me have him! He’s MINE!”

 

“Beckon him, mage,” Danarius chuckles. “Be enticing.”

 

Gods, he remembered the first Fenris had laid claim to him. The bestial snarls made him tremble where he laid, ass up in the air like some kind of bitch in heat. Anders could remember that night so vividly, the way the elf had possessed him like no other before and he felt a small spark of arousal from the memory.

 

The pleasure of Fenris' hands on his body, the ghosted memory of teeth sinking into his skin. His mouth watered in anticipation, he knew it would hurt but he wanted it all the same. Enticing? How the hell was he supposed to be enticing when he was bound up and panting. "Fenris." He cooed out sweetly, shifting his head at a weird angle to look back at the elf.

 

His body rocked forward as if a phantom lover was rutting into him, he gave a half-hearted moan. "Come here, Fenris." He licked over his lips. "I know you like the way I feel when I quiver around your cock. Don't you want to claim me again?"

 

With Danarius’ nod, the guard releases Fenris, and he descends like a wild animal. Claws that Danarius must have had sharpened dig into Anders’ frozen skin and draw blood, as Fenris’ cock-- so hard he doesn’t even need help from his hand to guide it-- pierces Anders in one hard thrust.

 

He’s beyond reason, beyond consideration. He fucks the mage like he’s dying, hips snapping and cock pounding into him brutally. His unprepared hole stretches and bleeds, burning and aching without a stitch of pleasure as he’s fucked roughly by the snarling elf.

 

“Good boy,” Danarius can be heard, sitting crosslegged in his chair with his fingers steepled, watching as Fenris tears into Anders with those metal-tipped claws, affixed to his fingers just for this occasion.

 

No matter how hard Anders had prepared for the pain, it was unlike anything he'd felt before. The blond let out a blood curdling scream when claws dug into his skin and Fenris rammed into him without preparation. He didn't blame the elf for this, he couldn't even be angry because it wasn't Fenris' fault.

 

Burning pain pulsated around his hole, intensifying with each drag of Fenris' cock, jarring and brutal. With each thrust the pain amplified, blood rolled in rivulets down Anders' pale thigh. Black mists swirled at the edges of his mind as the pain grew too much to handle but Fenris' commanded his attention before he could go unconscious.

 

Each sound pulled from his lips was more pathetic than the last, a whimper or wail. "It's okay, Fenris." He sobbed out quietly.

 

Fenris doesn’t even seem to hear him. Eyes closed, lips peeled back in a sharp-toothed snarl, nails dug in past the skin on Anders’ hips to keep him in place as he pile drives him until he’s dizzy with agony. But at least this is slaking the Need, Fenris will be back to himself after this, and if they’re permitted to see or be near one another, Anders can already anticipate the way Fenris will melt and apologize for hurting him, just like he did every other time the Need got to be too much while Anders was trying to cure him.

 

It’s the only thing keeping him sane as he’s torn apart from behind. He won’t even be able to heal himself after this, he’ll have to suffer with the pain, unless Danarius deigns that he’s worthy of seeing one of _his_ healers. He’d honestly be surprised if the man decided he was.

 

His glassy eyes stared across the cobblestone at the various rows of feet, his cheek scraped against it with each rough thrust from Fenris' hips. He had to do something to keep his mind occupied, he wouldn't give Danarius the pleasure of hearing him scream. Thirty two sets of feet not including Danarius, Fenris and himself. Sixteen guards. That wouldn't have been too much trouble of he still had his magic, a wince wrinkled on his features when claws dug into his hips harder.

 

_Focus, Anders. Focus on something else._

 

Anders' mind immediately snapped back to Kirkwall, the dingy Mansion that their unlikely friendship started. It was only images like the curl of Fenris' lips or the brush of white hair through his fingers but it was enough to keep him from screaming.

 

Tears leaked from his eyes as he recalled the moments spent in quiet peacefulness, immediately after the Need was slaked, when they would tend to the wounds left by their careless rushed fingers. Memories play in slow motion, filling the gaps in his mind to keep out the pain. They would discuss changes, conversation drifting to more comfortable and domestic topics. Sometimes, even, they would laugh.

 

He doesn’t realize it’s over until he’s being kicked onto his side. Fenris had collapsed, and he feels the sticky remains inside him, opening his eyes to see Fenris’ glazed stare looking back at him.

 

“Good, Fenris,” Danarius speaks. “Now, come here.”

 

Anders expected him to fight. He expected a rampage, roaring, spitting, hissing, as the elf had done in the tavern. To his shock, his ultimate horror, Fenris simply rolls up onto his hands and knees, and crawls to Danarius’ side, sitting back on his feet and hanging his head with his hands limp between his lap.

 

“Good,” Danarius lifts Fenris’ weary face by his chin. “Good boy.” he turns Fenris’ head forcefully, to look in Anders’ direction. “This is Benesol. Say it.”

 

“Benesol,” Fenris’ words are hoarse and muddy.

 

“He’s your new plaything. You’ll do whatever Master tells you to do with him, won’t you?”

 

“...Yes, I will,” Fenris says numbly, his eyes glassy as he looks over at Anders.

 

Anders laid there in a puddle of liquid, slobber and tears matting his hair while seed and blood slicked his legs. He watched in wide eyed shock as Fenris obeyed the Magister's command without a single hint of hesitation.

 

And then, a creak. His hard work on his chains had finally paid off and his hands broke free from their confines. A loose nail was all he needed to do the trick and pulling them from the rotted wood in his cell hadn't been easy. He used them to push up into a sitting position, wincing as pain shot through his gut.

 

What had they done to Fenris? What could have possibly made the elf submit without a single word? The healer shook his head in disbelief, this couldn't be the same man he'd known back in Kirkwall. It had to be a doppelganger, a demon who took the guise of Fenris because this wasn't him. Anders refused to believe it, his free hand wiped the slobber from his lips.

 

"What did you do to him?" His voice still raw and guttural from use. "What kind of bastardized magic did you use to destroy him this time? No wonder he hates mages, you are an irredeemably lavish prick with a maladjusted oppressive orgy of perversion that is your guards." Anders spit at the Magister's feet.

 

Danarius doesn’t seem pleased that Anders broke free, and no sooner had the last word left his lips than a guard descended upon him to hold his arms back. He tsks.

 

“Oh, dear, that’s no good. Benesol broke his bonds. Whatever should we do, Fenris?”

 

Fenris looks mournfully from Anders, up to Danarius, and back to the mage. “Punish him.”

 

This was something Anders knew all too well, punishment for breaking free. How many times had he been punished in the circle for this exact same act? His chin raised in the air and he gazed defiantly at the Magister with a look of pride, he'd been underestimated. No one should ever underestimate the healer, no one who did ever lived to regret it.

 

“That’s right,” Danarius sounds delighted. “We should punish him. Or, you should punish him, since it was your idea. What sort of punishment do you think is fitting for a slave who released himself from his master’s bonds?”

 

Fenris wants to drop his chin, but with Master’s grip on his face, he can’t look away. “Whatever master wishes,” he says, the words tasting like bile in his throat.

 

“Oh, no, I’m letting _you_ choose,” Danarius shoves Fenris away, the naked elf landing harshly on his belly. He catches himself on his hands, swallowing hard with his nose to the stone floor. “Punish him, Fenris. He is _your_ plaything, after all.”

 

Fenris looks up at Anders with sad, hopeless eyes. He looks around the room, tries to come up with a punishment that Danarius would find suitable for breaking out of his shackles. On shaky legs, he pushes up to a stand and lifts a torch from the wall.

 

“Ohh, interesting,” Danarius’ legs are crossed, his fingers steepled. “Do carry on.”

 

A whip had been expected, even fists but when Fenris' hand wrapped around a torch, his eyes widened a touch in alarm. Anders struggled against the guards to pull free and move away from the pain that would come from the elf's own hands. The torch was vicious with pointed metal prongs that most likely were heated by the flame that burned between them, iron and deadly. It could have been used as a mace if someone needed an impromptu weapon.

 

It wasn't the fire that scared him, it wasn't even the torch. Fenris' subservient nature without so much as a blink of his eyes was the most terrifying thing to him, he could have dealt with Danarius raping or beating him. He would have easily recovered from the guards doing their worst but it was Fenris who punished him, a man who's hands once treated him with appraisal.

 

Another betrayal after Hawke, Anders wasn't sure that he could cope with this one. Not after everything the two went through together.

 

“Hold his hands out,” Fenris says calmly. A second guard obeys, wrenching Anders’ forearms out straight, gripping him by the wrists to keep them in place.

 

“No!” Anders struggles, he fights and fights, writhing, trying to rip his hands away from the guards who hold him. He looks up at Fenris with fear in his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Leto, don’t do this!”

 

“My name is Fenris,” the elf says blankly before holding the flame underneath one of Anders’ palms.

 

Anders needed his hands to heal, and that's why he fights so vehemently to get free, it isn't just for the sake of him but for all the people who counted on his healing. He continued to beg right up until the flame licked against his hands, he bit down on his lower lip to keep from crying. The pain was small at first but it grew to insurmountable amounts the longer it was held there and he knew he would have third degree burns on his hands. Burns were the worst to take care of, they could easily get infected compared to cut skin.

 

A desperate whine built in the back of his throat but his teeth kept it muffled, skin split from how hard he bit down.

 

The elf moves to burn the other hand, but Danarius calls out, “Stop. He needs one hand free to obey orders. You’ve performed well, Fenris. Take him to your cell, now. I’ll send for you again whenever next I need you.”

 

Fenris nods, places the torch back in the wall, and takes Anders by the chain on his collar. The guards accompany them, and Fenris walks stiffly upright, unashamedly nude while Anders staggers behind him, clutching his blistered and bleeding hand to his chest.

 

The cell is fairly similar to Anders’, save for the cot against the wall. It’s twice as big, with a window to the outside world, high up over both of their heads, and too narrow for escape even if the bars could somehow be removed. Anders’ chain is locked into a ring in the wall opposite the cot, and Fenris is shackled to a ring on the opposite wall by his wrist, and then they’re left alone.

 

Fenris sits on the cot, knees drawn up to his chest, one arm around them to hide his face as he trembles on the canvas mattress.

 

There was no sound in the cell but Anders' quiet sobs as he clutched his injured hand. He was grateful that one hand was saved but it would do little if his other rotted away without care. The one thing he had counted on in this retched place, all that hope was for nothing. Danarius must have done something to Fenris, broken him to the point of obeying or maybe even destroyed his mind with magic. The elf would have never willingly hurt him like that, at least... Anders hoped he wouldn't.

 

The healer shifted against the floor, pressing a shoulder against the wall and curling his legs up against his chest. He couldn't stomach looking over at Fenris after that, the pain was immense. His hand throbbed in almost the same rhythm as his hole, sitting like this didn't help but he didn't want to lay down again.

 

“Waylon,” he hears a quiet voice, and lifts his head to see Fenris stretched out at the end of his chain, his hand shackled to the wall. “I’m so sorry. I-- I cannot-- apologies are meaningless. I don’t think Danarius will let it get infected, he-- he wants you. I don’t think you will lose it-- I am so sorry…”

 

Anders tensed at the sound of his real name, he stared at the elf as his mind attempted to understand what had happened. The more he thought about it, the more he caught glimpses of Fenris' face during the punishment. The sorrow. The heartache. Were they truly there or was his mind trying to lessen the mental anguish?

 

His face wrinkled in a snarl like a wounded dog and he pressed himself harder against the wall. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare call me by that name when you won't even acknowledge your own!" The healer spoke in a hushed but angry tone, teeth snapping together with each word.

 

"Don't you _dare_ try to lessen the pain you inflicted upon me by using it!" A hiccuping sob interrupted his words. "I thought you were dead and I was so happy to see you there. I was so happy and I didn't even care that he made you..." Anders dipped his head down as tears welled up in his eyes. "But you... you didn't even hesitate."

 

Fenris sags back, the chain between his wrist and the wall going slack. “I…” he swallows, his vulnerability hardening again into frustration in a moment. “To what end would hesitating have achieved? The punishment would have been harsher, Danarius might have taken it upon himself to punish you instead, and it would have been worse! So much worse-- you cannot fathom how severe punishments by Danarius’ hand are. You should be _thanking_ me for showing you _mercy_ \--”

 

He sighs, and leans back against the wall, climbing up on the cot. “You are not used to being a slave. I am practiced. I know how these things go. You are going to have to trust me, if you want to survive this with as little physical and mental damage as possible.”

 

Rubbing a this other arm, Fenris rests his chin on his knees. “I hoped… we could call one another by our real names, in private. If we did so in Danarius’ presence, he would only be furious, and punish us. There is no honor in purposefully arousing punishment. I hoped… if while we’re alone…” he growls in frustration, grinding his forehead against his knees. “I hoped it could keep us from losing ourselves.”

 

Anders wanted to hate him for it, he wanted to scream and throw obscenities at the elf but... Fenris' logic was sound. The other was right, the healer had no idea what life was like for a slave; even mages had more freedom in the Circle than slaves did here. The temptation was there too, he wanted to survive with as little physical and mental damage as possible but was it worth it. Was swallowing his pride and allowing this injustice to continue worth it?

 

Eyes, red from crying, gazed upon the elf for a moment and Anders decided it was. The pain still coursed through his body but he couldn't find an ounce of irrationality within Fenris' statements, he clutched his wounded hand to his chest.

 

"I will try." His voice finally whispered, unsure if he could truly submit to the likes of Danarius. "I can't guarantee that I won't lose myself but I will try for you." He licked over his lips. "Leto, you... you remember everything that happened in Kirkwall, right? Everything we've been through?"

 

“I do…” Fenris moves off the cot again, sliding down to the floor. Once again, at the edge of his chain, he reaches out with his other hand as far as it’ll go, and he only makes up about half the distance of the room. “But it is better not to think of it. Trust me. Forget everything you had, it’s gone now. Try not to have hope… it’ll only cause you pain.”

 

Anders' wasn't so quick to follow after the elf, he took his time sliding himself over. Each movement brought a wince to his features until he could reach out with his hand to try and touch Fenris'. "I wasn't thinking of anything." But you. It was left unsaid as he stared at the other.

 

They can only just barely clasp hands, their chains keeping them too far apart to do anything more than twine fingers. He clutches Anders’ hand desperately. He might have been afraid of Anders for some time, hated him and fought with him, but now, Anders is all he has to remind him that he was ever anything but a slave.

 

“I am sorry, for your hand,” he says, his voice rough and his teeth clenched. “You must understand, that for us to be trusted to be alone together, Danarius can’t know we…” he clears his throat. “He must think we despise one another, have no feelings for eachother whatsoever. It would be best if he thinks we hate one another. He is a sinister man who would take pleasure in shackling or bunking us together when he thinks we despise eachother. Which means that in his presence we will have to do… despicable things to one another. And we must do them without mercy or hesitation.”

 

His thumb rubbed against the elf's fingers gently, this was just another prison. Anders sucked in a shaky breath, his head tilting upwards so he could stare at the ceiling while he listened to Fenris' speak. The blond had hated him once, hated how he lumped every mage into the same category with Danarius but the elf was all he had now. It would have been a comfort if he didn't know the implications could be terrifying if they were to lose each other.

 

"I understand." Anders whispered back and leaned down to itch his nose against his shoulder because he refused to let go of the elf's hand. He wanted to question what Fenris meant by feelings but he would leave it for another day. Exhaustion was slowly weaving it's arms around him and all the healer wanted to do was sleep. "So, we are meant to play our parts as we did in Kirkwall but with added violence. I suppose we have no other choice."

 

“No, we don’t,” Fenris agrees. “If we want the freedom of being left alone with one another like this, we need to convince Danarius that we hate eachother. While we’re alone, we can discuss our escape plan. If we lose our freedom to be alone like this, we’re doomed, and trapped forever. While Danarius can see us, we need to be at one another’s throats. If he tells you to hurt me, you need to hurt me with all your strength. He’ll be able to know if you’re holding back, and we can’t afford to let him get suspicious. Physical pain is temporary, it’s something we can forget once we have escaped together.”

 

Anders shifted uncomfortably at the thought of hurting the elf. Even when they hated each other, the healer had never wanted to physically harm Fenris. At least, not how Danarius wanted them to hurt each other. There were days when he'd wanted to punch the smug elf right in his pretty face.

 

"Well." He gave Fenris' an emotionless stare. "It's a good thing that I'm shit at hitting people, isn't it? I don't have much strength in these tiny arms of mine." It was a horrendously bad joke but Anders' humor had always been in bad taste.

 

“Speaking of,” Fenris sighs. “I think you should hit me now. Hit me hard. Leave a mark.”

 

"What? Why? Danarius isn't here to see it!" Anders jerked back away from the elf and stared worriedly.

 

Fenris clings to Anders’ hand before he can yank away completely. He’s too frightened to lose this one nice touch. “You will be punished for it. For fighting me, for leaving a mark on me. But it will let Danarius know that even when we are alone, we are at one another’s throats. He doesn’t need to see it, and that is the point. If we only ever seem to fight when he can see us, eventually he will get suspicious that it is an act. We will have to leave marks on one another when he cannot see us, as well. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, integrity is defined by what you do when nobody is watching. Our story will be all the more convincing if we make sure it doesn’t seem that our rivalry only exists when he can see it.”

 

Anders hissed out in anger because once again, Fenris was right. He was started to hate the fact that he couldn't argue anything with the elf because he knew there was reason, he knew they had to play it up.

 

"I take no pleasure in hurting you, Leto." Anders murmured quietly. He couldn't quite throw his entire weight into the punch, he was chained to the opposite wall and that left little room to leave marks. "I'm not sure how I can. My hand can barely reach yours, how am I to leave a mark on you if I can't even reach you?"

 

“Use your foot. Kick my face,” he releases Anders’ hand with some hesitancy, kneeling squared off to brace himself. “Do not hold back. It won’t be enough if it only hurts. It must leave a mark. Make the blow count, or you will have to kick me more than once.”

 

Anders thought about the easiest way to leave a mark, he stared at the elf's face with dread. Thin skin with the most amount of blood vessels, lips or eyes. "Shit, I really don't want to do this." The healer shifted to get better leverage and cocked one of his legs back. The eye was the best bet, it would be blackened but hopefully, Anders wouldn't kick him hard enough to break any blood vessels. "I'm sorry." With that, the heel of his foot shot out and connected squarely underneath Fenris' eye.

 

Fenris tried to brace himself, but there’s really no way to prepare oneself for a kick in the face. He topples over backwards with a grunt of pain as sparks explode in his eye. He lands hard on the grimy stone floor and he throws his hand up to cup his eye.

 

“Fasta vass!” he curses, his chain clanking against the ground as he clutches his injured face, his other hand gripped into a tight fist. The bright spark of pain dims somewhat into a dull, throbbing ache, and he lifts his hand to look up at Anders. His eye is already bruising, the side of his nose swelling to match as the trauma settles into his tissue.

 

“Good,” he pants, crawling forward again and offering his hand. “Good.”

 

Anders tensed up, wincing at the sight of the elf dropping to the floor. It was obvious that he was ashamed of what happened, he had never wanted to hurt Fenris like this but he was lucky that he knew anatomy well enough.

 

"I'm sorry." He whispered, reaching out to take Fenris' hand again. "I tried to make sure that it would be something obvious but not detrimental. Busting your lips would have been a second choice but not the best one. You could have lost teeth and Danarius would have been even angrier that you couldn't perform correctly. The eye was... the obvious choice. It could withstand a hit better, bruised easily and..." Anders hazards a glance at the elf's face. "Andraste's frozen ass, I'm sorry. We're going to have to do this again, aren't we?" He knew the answer but he needed to hear Fenris say it again.

 

“Yeah,” Fenris says hoarsely, squeezing Anders’ hand tightly as the pain throbs behind his eye. “But don’t worry,” he gives a bitter chuckle at the circumstance, hoping his bare minimum attempt at humor will at least get a wry smile out of the mage. “Next time I’ll get you back for kicking me in the fucking face.”

 

Anders huffed out a laugh, he nearly choked himself from pulling against the chain to hold the elf's hand. "I'm sure you will. Just do me a favor and don't hit the nose." His thumb brushed against Fenris' knuckles as his gaze traveled to the other's lips. "I'm afraid that I'll lose my boyish charm if it gets broken again."

 

Fenris gives a laugh, which breaks into a sob. He tugs tighter at Anders’ hand, trying to draw him nearer against the collar biting into his throat. He wants to press his face against Anders’, againt his neck, hold him with both hands, squeeze him until they can’t breathe. Working together to strip away the Need from Fenris had marked the beginning of their differences slowly being put aside, and they’d certainly come to a mutual understanding of one another, but that pales in comparison to what they have now.

 

He looks at the mage, furious tears in his eyes, and he shakes Anders’ hand tightly, squeezing his fingers. “I won’t let them break you,” he says, his tone as serious as it has ever been. “I will protect you from this.”

 

Anders cared little for the sensation of that collar pressing tight against his Adam's apple, or the fact that he could barely swallow. He wished he could push forward and wrap his arms around around Fenris, to feel the comforting warmth of his body. The healer would have never admitted it out loud but he'd craved Fenris' touch, craved it like it was breathing sometimes. It wasn't the Need anymore, but something that had become regular with the both of them. Or at least, it did, until they stopped. Why had they stopped?

 

"I know," He whispered, bringing the other's fingers to his lips and straining to press a kiss to just the tips. "I know you will."

 

They sat like that for hours, barely able to touch one another except for their grasping hands which stayed clasped tightly. As the night went on, both became too weary to stay awake and reluctantly pulled away from each other. Anders curled himself up in the corner, a small ball in the shaded darkness but nothing could erase the memories of today.

 

Anders would have to learn to live like this, he couldn't understand how Fenris had all those years ago or how he could be so strong now. The elf possessed a strength that he'd never had, an ability to follow through so thoroughly that even he had been convinced. His eyes stared down at his burned hand, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

 

A fatalistic idea crossed his mind that perhaps this is where he belonged, he was meant to be held captive and chained like a dog. Whether it was in the Circle or in Imperium, he was fated to be held in a cage.

 

 _I could have just let him go._ His eyes traveled the expanse of their cage towards the elf. _It wasn't as if we were ever friends._

 

Images behind his retinas, those mossy green eyes staring at him through white lashes and those hands... Andraste, he could still feel them ghosting over his skin. Anders had thought he'd tried to save the elf because he'd worked so hard to save him but in the end, that wasn't it at all.

 

No. _Fenris... Leto deserves to be free. No one deserves this life._ That was the last thought that ran through his head before sleep finally took him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is somewhat short, but important. Laying the groundwork for their escape.

To the great shock of both Fenris and Anders, the mage is taken away the next day to be seen to by a healer. He isn’t healed completely, but his nerve damage is seen to, a balm is layered over his skin to chase infection away, and his hand is well-bandaged.

 

Fenris sit in their cell, consumed with fear for what would happen to the mage, as the guards didn’t say a word when Anders demanded to know where they were taking him. He sat on his cot, arms wound around his knees, doubled over and trying not to let his mind run wild.

 

Of course, that was about as effective as he thought it might be. Instead, his thoughts wandered back over their time in Kirkwall, when Anders had risked everything-- his dignity, his own safety, his entire career-- on trying to protect Fenris from the magic consuming him.

 

He remembers the times they fucked like wild animals, the times he dug into Anders like a beast. He wants to chew the metal claws affixed to his fingertips right off, punishment be damned, but he fears that any wrath he might call would descend upon not only his head, but Anders, and he won’t act out if Anders’ wellbeing is at stake.

 

Hopefully, if they can successfully fool Danarius into thinking they hate eachother, he won’t be able to pit them against one another with the threat of mutual punishment.

 

And he remembers the times they made love. Between the Need, curled together in bed, whispering thoughts to one another as they surface. They needed no filter, as they eased into the comfortable knowledge of which topics to avoid to remain civil. They grew to know eachother in a real sense-- Fenris learned to appreciate Anders’ abilities with magic and how he used it, while Anders… well, if anything would allow him to grasp Fenris’ mistrust of mages, it’ll be his stay here.

 

All he wants to do is protect Anders. All he can do is count the minutes until the mage is brought back, and pray that somehow their plans weren’t overheard when they were alone, pray that he isn’t being tortured or killed for it while he sits here awaiting his _turn._

 

The Healer in particular was a tall strong shouldered man who was quietly attentive to Anders' hand, it was strange being on the other side of things like this. Normally, he wouldn't have needed to see another healer for his own wounds but this was as awkward as he thought it would be. The blond wanted to remark on how he was definitely doing this wrong but he was particular about things and rule number one of any clinic was don't piss off your healer.

 

Anders flexed his digits gently, pleased to see that the balm had a small hint of numbing over his hand. It still hurt but it was manageable, he could live with manageable. When the guards came to get him, he diligently followed them even if they did still push him quite aggressively. It only took him a moment to realize that they weren't heading back to the cell, his gaze snapped up towards the guard's in worry before he was pushed into an alcove and a hand slapped over his mouth.

 

"I like this one." The older guard said as he ran calloused fingertips over Anders' pale skin, the second guard grunted his approval. "He's more exotic than all these elves. I am so tired of elves."

 

The blond didn't know who's hand was where or why it even mattered as he closed his eyes and thought of something else. "He's beautiful. I bet you wouldn't even know he was a man if we bent him over." The hands were rough but not rough enough to leave bruises on his skin, nothing that could leave evidence for Danarius to see. Anders' screamed behind that hand when the older guard shoved him down to his knees and he knew without a doubt what would happen next.

 

It was a few hours later when he was shoved roughly back into his cell, his collar locked to the wall once more as the guards left, whispering to themselves about the next time they could corner the blond alone. His hair was tangled, lips plump and bruised from use but he said nothing as he sat there on the cold stones.

 

Fenris knew better than to lift his head when he heard Anders return, but the second that heavy cell door to the block was closed, he lurched up off the bed, standing at the end of his chain and then dropping to his knees, trying to reach out for Anders.

 

“What did they do to you?” he demands, growing more distressed when Anders doesn’t move, when his requesting outstretched hand is not met. “Waylon! Lift your head, look at me, what did they do to you!?”

 

Anders tongue dragged against his throbbing lower lip, he didn't want to look up. Anders didn't want the elf to see him like this but it was unfair to leave him with his imagination. It was far crueler to let it be, his haunted gaze resting on Fenris.

 

"The guards took it upon themselves to find pleasure before they brought me back." There was no other way to say it, he had to distance himself from what happened before he broke down. "Apparently, elves are no longer the preference any longer."

 

Fenris’ shoulder aches like it might be dislocated as he leans at the end of his chain, putting his full weight on the shackle around his wrist. Still, Anders doesn’t reach out for his hand.

 

“I’ll kill them,” he growls, reach unwavering, even as the metal bites into his skin and he bleeds. “When we get out of here I will burn this place to the ground, I will personally tear through the throats of every guard with my teeth-- _Waylon!”_

 

His shout keeps Anders from closing in on himself, curling up in a defeated ball. He looks up and meets Fenris’ gaze, eyes shiny and lips pulled back; murderous is the only way to describe it. And, for once, that gaze isn’t turned on him. It’s incredible, how beautiful Fenris can be, when Anders isn’t frightened of him.

 

“I said I would protect you, and I meant it,” Fenris lowers his voice, outstretched fingers spreading just that much more, a pleading gesture. “I cannot protect your body, but I can protect your mind. You are braver than this. You are the bravest, stupidest man I have ever known, and you _will not break.”_

 

A despondent gaze leveled itself at the elf's reaching hand, Fenris was making a grand gesture for his honor but it did little to settle his nerves now. "You're going to dislocate your shoulder or pull the tendons in your arm if you continue."

 

Anders finally slid himself closer so he could lace fingers with the elf. "We can do nothing about it right now so don't let this consume you. I should have known it would happen eventually. It seems the guards here aren't much different than the ones in the Circle."

 

His eyes faltered towards his bandaged hand with a bitter smile. "At least their healer isn't a complete idiot. He was thorough with his job but he left me wounded. I had a lot of thoughts about what would happen when we got here and this wasn't one of them. I expected to be put to work, some kind of labor. I never expected..."

 

Anders turned towards the elf again and let his teeth scrape against his lower lip. "I did not think I would be beautiful enough for Danarius' liking but now, I know he had horrid taste in companions if he chose us." Another joke as tasteless as the other.

 

Fenris appreciates Anders’ need for humor to keep himself sane, even if he doesn’t necessarily like it. He wants to rampage right this second, but he understands Anders’ plight, trying to soothe his anger. He can do nothing for them now, not yet. He wants to be furious, wants to stew in his anger, as letting it go feels like an admission of defeat. But Anders needs him calm, Anders needs him whole and attentive and _here_ , right now.

 

That’s one of the many ways he and Anders differ. Once, he wanted Anders to see the world as he did, to understand him and then leave him alone. He’s not sure he could ever mark the exact moment he started to accept the fact that they’re different men.

 

“I beg your pardon,” he says, squeezing Anders’ hand. “I’ll have you know I’m as beautiful as a swan.”

 

Anders didn't handle his anger well either, he couldn't blame the elf. His short fuse and constant foul-mouth had caused tons of problems back in Kirkwall but for now, he wasn't angry. He wasn't ashamed, he was simply melancholic. It was a sadness that left him numb and uncaring, it wouldn't last long and he knew it. His fingers brushed over the claws fixed to Fenris' fingers and glanced down at them for a moment.

 

"As beautiful as a swan?" Anders raised blond brows, it was definitely not the animal he would have picked for Fenris. "I suppose I could go with that considering your temperament is the same too. Swan's are known for their aggressive and fierce temperament." He lips broke into a small smile.

 

"I would have considered you more like a cat. Aloof, quiet, intelligent, completely stubborn and insistent. I'm not talking about a domestic cat either, I'm talking a wild one."

 

Fenris scoffs, ducking his head to hide the way his face reacts to the fluttering of his heart. “You’re going delirious, mage. Comparing me to cats. You’d compare anything to cats.”

 

“Only the things I like,” Anders says tenderly.

 

Fenris looks up, mossy eyes hard with determination. Nothing will break this mage. He won’t let that happen to Anders, he won’t let anything choke out the light that comes off of him in waves. He’s the only light in Fenris’ life, right now. And furthermore, Anders deserves to keep that light. He’s fought for it for so many years now.

 

They hold hands until they can’t bear the pain of their overstretched arms, and relax for a time, before crawling back to the center of the room to clasp hands wordlessly again. When the door opens, they immediately retreat to opposite sides of the cell, and an elven servant slides a tray with two bowls of gruel on soggy, thin slices of bread. They eat with their hands, devouring the tasteless and slimy food like it’s the best food they’ve ever eaten.

 

Fenris sits with his empty ceramic bowl, considering. He looks up at the walls, and then down at the bowl, back up at the wall, and then back down. Anders eventually catches on that Fenris is thinking, and sits up straighter.

 

“What are you--”

 

“Shh,” Fenris holds up a hand, looking up at the cell wall. He moves to the end of his cot and slides it away from the wall, inspecting the mortar between the thick stones that make up the wall. He scratches at it with his clawed fingertips, and several crumbs of mortar scatter down t the floor.

 

Anders’ eyes light up with realization. “Do you think we could dig out?”

 

“I think we could,” Fenris looks up at him, and then back down at his bowl. “This is going to get me in trouble…”

 

He lifts the bowl over his head and smashes it on the ground. It shatters apart into jagged pieces, and he quickly sorts through them to find the largest one. With great haste, he hides it behind the edge of his cot against the wall, and rushes back into place just as a guard comes crashing in demanding to know what the noise was.

 

“I dropped it,” Fenris immediately drops to his knees, hanging his head. “I’m sorry, please don’t tell Master, it was an accident.”

 

“Danarius will be hearing about this,” the guard sneers instead, and turns around to leave. Fenris waits to move until the heavy door clanks closed, and then he’s on his feet, moving the cot aside once more and picks up the piece of ceramic, and without a word, he begins to scratch away at the wall, where his cot can be pushed up against the wall to hide it.

 

There was a small spark of hope deep in his chest until he realized there were some complications to this plan. There was no where to hide the upturned dirt or stones and if they placed everything back it would just be a never ending circle of digging that never lead anywhere. "This isn't the actual escape plan, is it?" He dropped back against the wall as he watched, he didn't have enough chain to go dig on the other side of the cage.

 

"This is so we get caught and moved. I noticed that some of the other cages don't have pins to hold our chains in place. You're hoping that they'll move us to one of those and we'll be able to get free easily." He licked over his lips slowly. "They're also close to the door and the weapons rack. Ah, I see it now." It was a good plan if that's what Fenris was thinking but there were a lot of what ifs running through his head.

 

What if they're put in different cages? What if they're separated or even worse, placed nearer to Danarius?

 

“No,” Fenris says as he carries on scratching, mortar dropping to the floor in piles, which he sweeps to the very edge of the corner with his bare foot. “Getting moved would defeat the purpose, and fighting would spell death, we would be hilariously outmatched. The only way to get out is to sneak. This cell leads right outside.”

 

He points up at the tiny window in their cell. Not even a foot high and barred, and too far up for it to be a viable exit route even if they could somehow remove the bars. He pats the stone wall.

 

“Freedom lies right on the other side of this wall. I won’t have to dig a very large hole, both of us are very slim. I will be able to hide it with the cot, pressed up to the wall. This cell hasn’t been cleaned in years, I know because this was the very cell I was kept in during my last stay in this dreadful place, so I know they will not find the hole during any kind of inspection.”

 

He pauses again in his digging to sweep aside the mortar to the edge of the wall, and looks up and Anders. “I will replace the stones without the mortar every time I must stop digging, and then move them again when I resume. It shouldn’t take longer than a week or two to dig a hole large enough for us both to crawl out of. Getting the key to release us from our chains will be more difficult.”

 

Anders was still unsure of this plan, something boded ill about it and he couldn't put his finger on what it was. His knees pulled up against his chest while he watched Fenris' meticulously dig the mortar from between the stones. "We are unevenly matched that is true. Especially since I couldn't use my magic, you would eat me alive."

 

His slender fingers walked up his own thigh, tapping out a quiet rhythm that helped him remember the plan. "A week or two and we'll be free." The tone sounded disbelieving if not a little breathless, he was far too excited for the prospect but had to remember what Fenris told him last time. Don't hope for anything. Anders couldn't help himself, he had hope as long as he had the elf. "We wouldn't need the key if I had something thin and sharp. I might not be a thief but picking locks is actually something I'm quite good at."

 

The mage went quiet for a moment before a question popped into his head and curiosity got the better of him. "How did you get out last time, Leto?"

 

Fenris’ scratching goes still for a moment, before he resumes, his jaw set. “Danarius abandoned me in Seheron,” he says numbly, sweeping aside another small pile of mortar. “I was injured and sick. I didn’t realize that escape was an option until I was found by a group of qunari rebels. They healed me, and when Danarius returned for me, they wouldn’t let him take me. So Danarius ordered me to kill them.”

 

He sighs, his shoulders dropping. “And I did.”

 

Silence lingers in the air, before Fenris resumes his scratching without another word.

 

"Oh." That was the only response that Anders could summon from his stunned lips, he couldn't begin to understand having to murder an entire group because someone simply ordered them to. It wasn't like with Karl at all, sad but not quite the same. Honestly, the blond was almost sorry that he'd asked at all but it told him something about the weight Danarius had on Fenris all those years ago.

 

 _And what would you do if he ordered you to kill me?_ Anders left that question unsaid as he stared silently at the stones.

 

"My hypothesis on how sex slaves are treated in Tevinter was completely incorrect." He stated, attempting to change the subject. "For some reason, I predicted silk pillows and pretty gold chains. Golden powders and glittering jewels to somehow weigh down the slave, keep them placated with something pretty."

 

Fenris laughs bitterly. “That’s how they’re treated to the public eye. But it isn’t for the slave’s benefit, it’s a status symbol for those who own the slaves. ‘Look how pretty my slave is’ and ‘look how many jewels MY slave is wearing.’ They’re props, no better than furniture.”

 

He breaks off the tip of his ceramic chisel and immediately slows down with a sigh. He’ll have to be more careful, as he resumes his digging. “Nevertheless, I was not a body slave. My primary function was security. It’s only because Danarius is a sick individual that he insisted on touching me as well.”

 

"That makes a great deal of sense," Anders brushed fingers through his knotted hair with a sigh, tugging out the tangles that hung limply between the golden strands. "I never hypothesized that a slave would be happy about it. No one would be happy without freedom unless they knew nothing else."

 

The healer shifted to stare at the chain holding his collar to the wall and tilted his head curiously, the metal barring that held it to the stone looked loose. If he applied enough pressure, he could eventually break it completely maybe he wouldn't have to pick the lock at all. "If your primary function was security, what is mine? I doubt Danarius would give me back my magic and I am practically useless as a warrior. I have no skills other than healing, lock picking and singing."

 

Fenris scoffs, the sound angry, and he spits out the word, _“Guess.”_

 

When Anders doesn’t, he looks up to see the mage’s crestfallen expression, and he sighs. “I am sorry, Waylon. I didn’t want this for you. I don’t want it for anybody, but least of all--” he grits his teeth. “I know how hard you’ve fought for your freedom. This isn’t fair for you.”

 

Anders had hoped for some comfort, anything would have been better than what the elf said. He knew full well what he was, he dropped his head forward against his knees as his arms wrapped around his legs.

 

"I know, Leto. You wouldn't wish this on even your sworn enemies but it's better if we talk about it. I need to know what to expect." He raised his eyes up to look at Fenris. "I need to know before it happens. Hesitating or surprise is not an option from what I've seen."

 

Fenris chews his own teeth for a moment. He doesn’t want to tell Anders, he wants to protect him from everything, including and especially this. He wants to crawl back across the room and take his hand, but every second counts in their escape, so he goes back to digging.

 

“He will use your body. He will not prepare you for him. He will not give you real pleasure. He may force climaxes out of you, but trust me when I say it will never feel good. If his goal is to torture you with forced pleasure, it’s in your best interest to accept the touch and try to achieve release as quickly as you can.”

 

He continues to explain from there, unwilling to watch Anders’ expression as he details parties in which Anders may be passed around, how he may be tortured, branded, mutilated, choked and even beaten so severely he might think he’ll die.

 

Fenris has more explanation than he does time. His sensitive ears pick up the sound of someone coming, and he quickly shoves the cot against the wall, hiding the ceramic chisel from sight and curling up on the bed. He keeps his head down, refusing to look up, until he hears the sound of the remaining pieces of the bowl being scooped up, and he looks up to see a servant clearing away the mess he made. She looks up at him with mournful eyes, and says nothing as she leaves.

 

He’d thought for certain they were being called for. What’s Danarius doing? He never shies away from an opportunity to punish. He must be planning something terrible. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very explicit and intense chapter. Dead Dove: DO NOT EAT

The day comes and leaves, Fenris uses every ounce of free time scratching away at the mortar. He reasons he’ll need to be able to remove five stones before they’ll be able to shimmy through the hole, and by the end of the first day he has one inch dug deep around half of one stone. It’s a slow process, but if there’s one thing they have, it’s time.

 

The next day comes and goes in similar fashion. Fenris and Anders speak mildly with one another, keeping their voices down so they don’t rouse the guards’ attention. For the most part, guards will leave whispering slaves alone, so long as they keep the noise down, so the guards can sleep. Useless guards, but Fenris isn’t about to complain about their lack of accountability.

 

The mage reports that Fenris’ bruise has started to heal and turn green around the edges, and he fears Anders may have to kick him again if Danarius doesn’t call for them in time. But in the evening of the third day since being locked up, a guard comes to announce that Danarius wants them, and even throws oversized shirts at them to wear. They amount to nothing more than thin linen slips, but it’s better than the freezing nakedness they’ve been living in for days.

 

Clothing? Anders bristles. There should be nothing worrisome about wearing an over-sized white shirt but after everything he'd learned, there was a reason for it and it wasn't going to be good. Anders cast his gaze towards the floor as they were lead away by guards; he wondered if he'd ever get the freedom Fenris was allowed or... perhaps he shouldn't want that.

 

Anders’ chain is gathered up by the guard, while Fenris is simply released. It seems they’re familiar enough with him to know he won’t fight, and he doesn’t. He follows behind with his head bowed, keeping the guard’s feet in his sights so he doesn’t get lost. He wants to glance back at Anders, to try and communicate with his eyes that no matter what happens, they’ll get through it together. But he doesn’t dare risk it.

 

To their surprise, they aren’t brought back to Danarius’ private chambers, but rather one of his many sprawling sitting rooms. There the magister is, spread out on a fainting couch, sucking grapes from a poor elf girl’s fingers with his hand firmly around her wrist. She can’t possibly be a day over fifteen. Upon the arrival of the two men, she’s dismissed, and she scurries readily from the room, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

 

The healer side-eyed the elf as they were brought into what Anders' assumed was a sitting room and he tugged lightly at the edge of his shirt. It didn't make any sense for him to feel naked while wearing a shirt but somehow, it only seemed to make things worse. Anders watched the poor elf girl scurry from the room like her life depended on it and he pitied her even while he was still in the room with Danarius.

 

“So,” Danarius starts as the pair walk forward and kneel down with their heads bowed. “How was your stay in the cell? I heard you broke a dish, Fenris. Since when are you so clumsy?”

 

Fenris hates to have to do this, but he knows just as well as Anders what the plan is, so he lifts his head to display the bruise and says, “I threw it at the mage. I am sorry, Master.”

 

“You threw it at--” Danarius starts, and then spots the bruise. He takes Fenris by the chin and tips his head up higher, drawing him up from sitting on his feet to a proper kneel. “Did the mage do this to you?” he asks, while looking straight at Anders.

 

When he was questioned, Anders tilted his head up arrogantly and gave the Magister a smile. "I thought someone like you would know not to put us together. Didn't Hawke warn you about our history together? We. Hate. Each. Other." He said it through clenched teeth, letting his anger for Danarius and Hawke help his case. "I have hated Fenris from the moment he opened his stupid mouth and now, he's the reason I'm here. Why wouldn't I give him a black eye for that?"

 

“You hate eachother,” Danarius repeats, looking back at Fenris, who has continued the act by glaring back over his shoulder at the mage. “And you think that gives you the right to break my things, Fenris?”

 

“He attacked me--” Fenris starts on instinct, but genuinely deflates when he looks back at Danarius to see him scowling. He sinks down. “No, master.”

 

“For breaking a bowl I graciously let you eat out of, you will receive no meals for a week. You will get your daily ration of water, and nothing else. As for the mage. How did he attack you?”

 

A week? A person could live up to three weeks without food given their body mass but that was still a week without food and there was no way Anders wouldn't share his own bowl gruel with the elf.

 

Fenris can feel his skin going cold. It won’t be the first time he’s been starved by Danarius, but the memories that this order brings back are not pleasant. He swallows hard. “He kicked me in the face, Master,” he says, wanting desperately to turn and look back apologetically at Anders.

 

“He kicked you in the face,” Danarius’ tone sounds amused as he looks up from Fenris to Anders. “Is that accurate, mage?”

 

Anders still held his head up high, giving that 'I am better than him' look towards Fenris until the Magister turned to look at him. "It is accurate. He tried to attack me with his claws so I kicked him in the face. I thought it was a deserving punishment for an animal."

 

He couldn't believe how easily it slipped from his mouth, Anders nose wrinkled in disgust. Anders couldn't let his feelings for the elf get in the way of their game, he had to make sure it was believable so he had to say things he didn't mean.

 

Fenris feels an uncomfortable shudder roll down his spine when he hears those words leave Anders’ mouth. Danarius, on the other hand, is grinning.

 

“Well, what a turn of events,” he chuckles. “I don’t even know where to begin with you two. Attacking one another, bruising my property, breaking my bowls. Tsk tsk, you two.”

 

Anders frowned. The chiding seemed too gentle, something about this felt wrong. The Magister had made Fenris punish him for simply getting out of his chains, he'd assumed something worse would come from nearly breaking the elf's face. Something in that tone of voice promised an act far worse than simple physical torture and he waited for it with his chin held high until the guards pushed his gaze towards the floor.

 

Fenris keeps his head bowed, trembling slightly in fear. Memories of some of his worst punishments go running through his mind. Would Danarius cut off their fingers and magically regrow them? Would he eviscerate them and let their innards steam until closing up the wounds like nothing ever happened?

 

He hears clunking boots enter the room, rattling with some kind of heavy metal, probably armor. He keeps his eyes focused on the tile, he doesn’t even risk glancing over at Anders, who he’s certain is in a similar state of fear.

 

“Ah, Serrah Hawke,” Danarius speaks in a cordial tone. Ice runs through Fenris’ veins and he starts to breathe a little faster. He hears a quiet whimper from Anders-- of fright? Or barely contained fury?

 

“What’s going on here?” the familiar tone of Hawke’s voice crawls into Fenris’ ears, and for a brief moment he thinks Hawke has come to save them, that this has all been a clever ruse. It wouldn’t explain why he sent Anders with, but for one single second he clings to the desperate hope that things might turn out okay.

 

But then Danarius speaks again. “Terribly sorry to leave the merchandise about while you come collect your payment. Ten sovereigns each, as promised.” the sound of a heavy coin bag changing hands makes Fenris’ jaw tingle with soul-deep pain.

 

The blond had memorized the sound of his companions walk, Fenris' was the hardest since he was feather footed but Hawke's was as recognizable as the sound of his voice. Anders sucked in a breath, the spark of hope died when he heard the exchange; that muffled clink of gold in the coin bag.

 

Ten sovereigns for a life, twenty for two. Three for the imprisoned spirit hidden within Anders, four if they counted Hawke's soul. He rubbed his fingers against the hem of his shirt, knowing full well that Danarius had made sure they were here for this interaction. Whether it was to assure them that they were here forever or simply rub it in their faces that someone they had considered friend just sold them, he wasn't sure.

 

For once in his life, Anders didn't want to be sure.

 

“So you just have them kneel about?” Hawke is clearly looking through the coins, counting them. Fenris still doesn’t look up. “Is that what they are? Decoration?”

 

“Among many things,” Danarius says, his tone vile and gleeful. “Would you care to test their capabilities, Champion? I promise Fenris at the very least won’t disappoint. Anders hasn’t been fully trained yet, but he’s taking to it remarkably well.”

 

Anders chewed on his lower lip as his nerves fizzled in his belly up to the point when Danarius offered Hawke a taste, he stifled the urge to look up in pure shock.

 

There’s a brief hesitation, and Fenris dares to cling to hope. His conscience screams for him not to, pleads with him to have no standards for how he should be treated, to slip back into the old ease of painlessness. After all, nobody could disappoint him if he had no expectations. But Hawke was a man he’d drank with, sang songs with and fought beside. Surely, his madness couldn’t extend--

 

“Eh, why not. I’m here already, might as well.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Danarius sneers wickedly. “Anders is particularly skilled with his mouth, I’ve found. Though Fenris is nothing to sneeze at, if you’re willing to brave those teeth.”

 

Fenris feels his skin crawl. His mind is reeling at him, ‘I told you so!’ He can’t believe Hawke would stoop so low, a man he dared to trust. He gives out his trust so rarely and with such difficulty, he never expected he could be so betrayed by somebody he risked everything for.

 

All of the thoughts in Anders’ head were instantly silenced by the Champion's response. There had been a time not so long ago when the Healer had confessed his feelings to Hawke, had told him everything that he admired about the man before he'd known what kind of beast he truly was.

 

“Choose me,” Fenris speaks up before Hawke even has a chance to turn around. He knows Anders will be wise enough not to speak up and argue to be taken instead, lest he risk the essential ruse that they despise one another. He won’t let Hawke touch Anders, if he can help it. He knows Anders felt even closer to Hawke. Anders has such a gentle and kind soul, even now he’s likely still clinging to the illogical but desperate hope that somehow, this is still all an illusion.

 

Anders’ cheeks felt hot at the Magister's praise, eyes welling with tears as he clenched his jaw shut. He couldn't speak up when Fenris offered himself as the sacrifice, it would destroy everything they were trying to convey but that didn't make it any easier. Tears dripped down his cheeks and onto his meager shirt.

 

“So bold,” Danarius says, his tone casual, but cold. Fenris might be punished for that later, it’s impossible to tell.

 

“Please,” he nearly chokes on the word. “Serrah. I was born and bred for this. I have been practicing all my life. I am far more skilled than the mage. I would be… honored.”

 

Hawke, however, seemed thrilled with the possibility. His dark eyes landed on the tattooed elf who so readily gave himself up. "I never thought I'd get the chance to see you like this." He barked out a laugh, strong digits gripped Fenris' snowy white hair and pushed that face into his crotch. "How's it smell, elf? You were so eager for it." The Champion pulled the fasteners of his breeches apart and snapped his fingers. "Get to it."

 

Anders kept his head down, staring only at his fists that clenched into the white cloth that stretched around his thighs.

 

How’s it _smell_ , Hawke questions, as Fenris opens his mouth and fights the need to gag with Hawke’s flaccid cock in his mouth. Oh, how he’d like to be honest. It smells exactly like he would expect, like Hawke hasn’t had a bath because he’s been in a damn carriage for two weeks.

 

He keeps his hands obediently folded in his lap, eyes closed and jaw slack. He’s been here a thousand times. All he has to do is retreat from the forefront of his mind and allow himself to become a hole. He keeps his lips over his teeth and keeps his tongue relaxed, resigning himself to the disgusting sensation of an unwelcome cock reaching hardness in his mouth.

 

Then he feels a hard strike across the face, and Hawke’s cock falls out of his mouth as he tumbles sideways. He catches himself on his palms, catching a glimpse of Danarius’ wicked smile.

 

“I want _enthusiasm_ , elf. If I wanted a dead fish I would’ve found a drunk whore in an alleyway.”

 

“Apologies, Serrah… it is as you wish,” Fenris finally looks up at Hawke then, and his eyes widen slightly as he notices something different about the man. There’s a distinct red glow to his eyes, the smallest of black veins creeping up from his temples--

 

“You want enthusiasm, I’ve got something for you,” Danarius speaks up, and beckons for another servant to come forward. She brings a box and kneels, holding it up for the man to open and reach inside. Fenris turns his head to look and feels a pit form in his stomach as he recognizes a familiar device. It looks like a whip, with only a few leather strands, but at the end of each is a rune, tied carefully in place.

 

“What’s this?” Hawke takes the whip’s handle from Danarius, unbothered by his hard cock simply hanging out in the open. “Beating him makes him obey?”

 

“Well, yes,” Danarius chuckles. “But this is for a specific purpose. Fenris has a very special kind of magic within him. These runes, when they touch him, react to the lyrium in his skin, and the lyrium activates the magic. Give it a try, I think you’ll like the results.”

 

Fenris has scrambled back up onto his knees, his head bowed, his breathing quickened and his belly tense. Not this again, Anders had worked so bloody hard with him to remove this vile, beastly magic, he’d given Fenris _everything._

 

Anders glanced up at the sound of footsteps, eyes widened considerably at the strange whip. He didn't know exactly what it was used for but by Fenris' frozen stance, he knew it would be particularly bad.

 

_Stupid, Stupid elf. Why did you have to go and do something so reckless? I could have handled it if he'd chosen me._

 

Fenris' words floated through his mind, promising him safety where he could grant it but Anders hadn't realized it would be against their old comrade. The urge to reach out and take Fenris' hand was almost too much, he needed the other's touch for comfort.

 

Hawke laughed through his nose as he turned his attention back to the elf, he rolled his wrist a few times to loosen it up. "I'm too curious not to." He prowled around Fenris to get a better view before slamming the runes against the elf's back, only three times. Each one harder than the last until he was satisfied. "Now, let's try this again." His fingers gripped white locks again, yanking Fenris' head backwards and stuffing his cock between the elf's open lips.

 

Fenris bites back the screams, even as his lyrium activates and glows in his skin. The runes hurt like nothing else, tiny blunt force trauma that always leave bruises in his muscles that hurt for weeks. Danarius doesn’t use this often, he has the same abilities to activate the magic in his fingertips. This devious weapon is used against him only when he’s really being punished, or Danarius is really showing off.

 

The Healer had flinched at every slap of runs against skin, trembling where he knelt because he knew it wasn't finished. There would be more to this and he really didn't want Fenris to be the only one taking punishments.

 

The Need hits Fenris like a cannonball to the belly. Saliva pools in his mouth and his cock stands up in seconds beneath his slip. He whines and bobs his head, tears of shame slipping down his cheeks as he gives himself over to the desperation. Logically he knows that only pleasing Danarius will make the agony fade, but his body isn’t in communication with his mind any longer.

 

He angles his head to make sure his teeth are completely out of the way and uses his tongue to curl, to draw pictures, to paint a masterpiece on the flesh in his mouth. There is no honor in suffering for the sake of suffering, after all.

 

Hawke groaned, his head dropping back when the elf's tongue curled against his cock.

 

"Better. Much better." He laid the runes against Fenris' back as he shifted to get a better position. His hips snapped forward, shoving his cock down the slave's throat. "Oh, fuck. Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?" Hawke spread his legs a little wider so he could piston himself into the elf's throat, he laughed when Fenris gagged. He'd wanted to do this for so long just to shut the elf up and what better way to do that than fucking his throat.

 

Anders' nostrils flared in anger at the Champion's glee, he wanted to rip out the man's throat with his bare hands. He wanted to pull the collar from his own throat, resuscitate Hawke before he died so he could feel that pain over and over again.

 

_I vow to kill you when I get out of here, Hawke. I will make you beg and plead for death. You will know hell before you die, I'll make sure of it._

 

Fenris is beyond himself, he’s beyond everything. The need only grows greater as those runes sit against his back, literally burning into his skin as the lyrium reacts to strongly to them. He would think Danarius would instruct Hawke to remove it, but he just sits there, cock erect and watching as Hawke takes his pleasure of the elf.

 

Between the pain and the wrong, twisted pleasure of the Need, Fenris is a mess. He doesn’t have the strength of will any longer to keep his hands still, and he gropes for Hawke’s thighs, gripping his trousers in both hands, the metal tips of his fingers scraping against his armor. Tears roll down his cheeks, his hips thrust into empty air as he scrabbles for any relief.

 

Hawke eventually dropped the whip in his pursuit for pleasure, but not before leaving brands behind on his back. He lifted the elf off the ground and dropped him on to one of the chaise lounges. He bent Fenris' head over the arm of the chair so he could rut into his throat like an animal, one hand wrapped around that tattooed throat and squeezed.

 

“Benesol,” Danarius speaks up, and it takes Anders a moment to realize he’s being spoken to. He’s not quite used to the new name yet. “Come to my side.” he pats his thigh like he’s beckoning a dog.

 

 _Benesol_. Anders had almost forgotten that name since the last time he'd heard it, he crawled his way over to Danarius' side. He didn't quite know what he was doing but he figured if the Magister was going to treat him like one, he might as well behave like a pet. His cheek rubbed gently against Danarius' knee, hoping to appease his 'master' before anything else could be done.

 

"Look at him." Hawke cackled euphorically as he watched the elf's hips snap upwards into the air eagerly. "He's like a bitch in heat."

 

“He _is_ a bitch in heat. Stop touching him and watch what happens,” Danarius says, only petting Anders’ hair for now.

 

Hawke steps back, cock out and shiny, and watches as Fenris grapples with the sudden loss of contact. He gives an animal whine, twisting on the lounge, drooling the excess saliva out of his mouth as he rolls over and crawls up onto the arm of the lounge.

 

“What-- guh-- what’s wrong?” his voice is gravelly, thick with the abuse to his throat. “Please--”

 

Hawke laughs and takes him by the head again, thrusting back into his mouth. Fenris gags and chokes, but otherwise responds enthusiastically, rutting his hips against the lounge cushion beneath him. Instinct begs for him to bring the organ in his mouth to release just to calm the storm of agony in his mind, regardless of whether the spell is tied to Hawke or not.

 

Which is exactly why he wails when that flesh leaves his mouth again. He’s roughly manhandled, clawed gauntlets ripping his slip and tearing his skin, until he’s bent over the arm of the lounge. He knows what’s coming next, but he doesn’t have the wherewithall to stop his raw scream of agony as Hawke enters him, unprepared.

 

Anders sat there with fingers twitching against his thighs, compulsion wanted him to slap away Danarius' hand and crawl to the elf. He wanted to climb up on top of him and let Fenris rut him into the floor like he had so many times, he would do anything to keep him from being humiliated like this but he stayed. He stayed not out of fear and not out of loyalty but for Fenris. Because he'd asked him to.

 

His head snapped away from the image of Hawke penetrating the elf, buried his face against the Magister's thigh as he tried to ignore sounds and the screams of agony. Anders sucked in quick breaths to keep himself from letting out a sob, shoulders trembled in fear. If Hawke was anything like he was during a fight, Fenris might not be enough to appease him.

 

Fenris’ wails are muffled by the sofa cushion as he’s rammed from behind. Nothing feels good about this, but the burn is at least satisfying to the Need. His eyes roll back in his head, and he writhes on the cushions, gripping the silk in desperation.

 

He’s barely aware of it when he’s flipped over again, a hand closes over his throat, and he’s speared once more. Legs spread wide, one hanging off the lounge and the other looped over the back. He can scarcely feel it anymore, it’s all melted together into one blinding, hot sensation that is both and neither pain nor pleasure. His head tips to the side, face expressionless and at peace as his Need is slaked, and he makes eye contact blindly with Anders.

 

Anders' hand slapped over his mouth as he watched their once friend pound into Fenris with such strength that if the Healer hadn't been aware of the elf's physical prowess, he would have thought he'd break. He shrank back against the chaise lounge and Danarius' leg as he stared at the blank eyes that gazed upon him.

 

His tears rolled in heavy lines down his face, pooling at fingers around his mouth before they continued on. Anders had always hypothesized what the Magister would do with the Need but this was far worse than his imagination could have come up with. He'd never wanted to see it used in practice but he couldn't tear himself away from those unblinking eyes.

 

Fenris’ body bounces on the lounge to Hawke’s completion, which is announced by a loud grunt from the warrior. His grip on Fenris’ back doesn’t lessen until he finishes completely and stands up. He tugs in the same moment he releases, flipping Fenris over and off the lounge as he stands. Fenris lands hard on the stone floor with a dull smack and simply lays there, his back to Anders.

 

Anders wanted to gather disposed elf into his arms, rock him gently until they both fell asleep but he knew that wouldn't happen. He couldn't reach out to Fenris without their ruse being seen through and it would only spell more trouble for both of them. So, he stared until dimly, waiting for his turn to be used and thrown off like some toy that was broken after one use.

 

Hawke stands, his erection still shining in the light of the torches. Danarius thrusts Anders forward by the back of his neck. “Would you like to sample the other?” he sneers.

 

“I think I would,” Hawke moves shamelessly towards the crouched form of Anders. Anders keeps his chin down, fearing a smack to the mouth, expecting a rough pull of his hair. But instead he gets a gentle touch to his chin. “Come, Anders.”

 

With a hand in his hair, leading rather than pulling, he brings the mage to another lounge seat, separate from the one Fenris had been abused on, and tosses Anders up onto it. Kneeling behind the mage with his bottom in the air, he removes his gauntlets and spreads his bare hands down Anders’ back.

 

What is he doing, Anders can’t help but think. The juxtaposition between how he’s being touched now and how Fenris was being treated is enough to have him trembling with fright, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He feels Hawke’s mouth at the back of his neck, gently moving his hair out of the way.

 

The Healer flinched away from Hawke's touch, his tear stained face staring down at the hands that treated Fenris so roughly but eased him towards the other lounge seat. This was wrong. The Champion was being kind to him, this was completely inconsistent with his earlier actions. Back in Kirkwall, he had thought about a moment like this between himself and Hawke, had brought himself to completion many times while fantasizing.

 

“You always were the pretty one,” Hawke rumbles in his ear, one hand groping at Anders’ backside, the other thrusting fingers into his mouth.

 

Hawke's compliment did nothing for him, his heart didn't flutter with joy but with fear. Anders whined when digits thrust into his mouth and he obeyed, his tongue curled and flicked between them to coat the fingers with saliva. Do whatever it takes to make it less painful, Fenris had said.

 

He realizes all at once, that’s exactly what this is. Hawke knew it would hurt him more if the Healer was treated with gentle hands. He knew that the way to break Anders was through his guilt, through whatever feelings he had left for the Champion.

 

Those fingers are rough when they open him, but not so rough that Anders doesn’t feel pleasure. It’s slick and hot and he weeps as Hawke thrusts them inside. He doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve the kindness while Fenris was brutally raped and is still laying on his side on the stone floor.

 

But that’s the point. Hawke knows exactly how to use Anders against himself, and he’s making good use of that guilt by forcing the mage’s cock to rise between his legs with careful attention to his prostate.

 

Sobbing into the cushions, Hawke removes his fingers and replaces them with his cock, pressing inside in a slow, deep glide. Slick with saliva, Anders grits his teeth as the incredibly unwelcome sensation of unwilling pleasure thrums through his body.

 

Anders had to continue to remind himself that he didn't want this, he had never wanted this. Hawke had laughed in his face when the Healer had confessed his love for the man, he'd laughed and called Anders crazy. He was so ashamed of himself when his cock rose between his legs happily, the blond buried his face against the cushions. He would not allow Hawke the satisfaction of hearing him moan or cry in pleasure.

 

The Healer nuzzled into the wet cushion, nails dragging against it when the Champion sheathed himself. Anders hated himself for his reaction, hated himself even more for how he used to love Hawke. How had he not seen this side of the man sooner?

 

The first rolling thrust caused a vicious tremble to rock through him, it was pleasing compared to Fenris' lust-ridden rut. The slick slide of Hawke's cock against his walls had him gasping against the cushions as he fought to control his own body against the pleasure rolling through it.

 

“There you are,” Hawke growls, picking Anders up by the shoulder to lean back against his chest. His armor is uncomfortable against the mage’s back, with nothing but his linen shirt as a barrier between them, but then Hawke’s hand closes around Anders’ cock and strokes. “There’s the slut I remember from Kirkwall.”

 

He strokes in tandem with his thrusts, his other hand spread on Anders’ chest to keep him upright as he pounds him from behind. He bites and kisses the mage’s neck, determined to have him sobbing with miserable pleasure.

 

Anders had tried so hard to keep himself at a distance from his bodies reaction, he tried to keep his thoughts separate but... Andraste's tits, Hawke felt so good. His mouth watered, he could do nothing but take it. He couldn't push the Champion away because that would get him punished.

 

His head dropped back against the Champion's shoulder as the man thrust into him again and again, one hand slid lower to grasp Hawke's wrist to keep him steady. Toes curled as something low in his stomach tightened, he couldn't. No, he wouldn't let himself reach completion. Not by Hawke's hands. But he wouldn't have a choice if this continued much longer. Anders let out a sob of pleasure, breath hitching with every slide of that hand against his slender cock.

 

"Please." He gasped out. "Please, don't do this."

 

Hawke grins against his throat. “Come, mage,” he growls. Anders does.

 

He’s left on the floor in similar manner to Fenris, who appears to have roused now. He’s crawling across the floor, dragging his tired body towards Danarius, while the magister has a casual conversation with Hawke as the Champion re-dresses. The shame heats Anders’ face. He desperately pulls the shift down and tried to ignore the delicious throbs of pleasure between his legs.

 

“Please, master,” Fenris chokes out, while Hawke watches with a sneer. He drops to his hands to rest his forehead against Danarius’ feet. “Please, let me pleasure you, master.”

 

Fenris had not come, Anders realizes. And Danarius had yet to even be touched. The whole while Hawke was fucking him, Fenris was still suffering with the Need.

 

The Healer wants to ask Danarius to let them entertain him but that would mean he wanted to slake Fenris' Need. His fingers curled in the dirty white shirt and he stared down at the floor as he listened to the elf beg. Anders would need to apologize later, he'd have to apologize to Fenris for this, and for ever thinking the Circle was worse.

 

“Don’t speak out of turn,” Fenris receives a slap across the face from Danarius, dropping him to the floor. Fenris shakes, pressing his heated body up against the cool side of Danarius’ throne, while he continues trading pleasantries with the Champion. Then with an order to a servant to guide Hawke to his guest chambers for the evening, Hawke leaves the room, and Danarius turns his eyes back to Fenris.

 

“Now,” he growls, reaching out and taking a fistful of the elf’s snowy hair, dragging him forward. Fenris grits his teeth, trying desperately not to cry out. He doesn’t even need to be told, he’s in tune with his master’s needs. He climbs up into the Magister’s lap, clasps his hands around his opposite wrists behind his back, and with a simple oil spell from the mage, lowers himself down onto his Master’s cock.

 

It’s agony, but when Danarius pulls Fenris forward to rest against his chest, the elf can’t help but feel an old flutter of joy leap through his chest. It’s squashed by disgust in the same moment, shame and anger replacing it with heat in his chest. He can still remember when he would revel in the slightest of kind touches from the man.

 

He bounces up on his knees, a willing sheath for the Magister, who doesn’t have to do a lick of work, besides hold him by the back of the neck to steady the elf. Danarius’ completion is found before Fenris’ and he allows the elf to rut into his hand. Fenris comes sobbing and thanking him.

 

So, Hawke was staying there for the night? Anders wished he could break free from his bonds and go after the bastard but the collar would have prevented him from doing anything about it. Instead, he tried to focus on anything besides the sounds of Fenris riding the Magister's cock. The Healer peeks out from the curtain of his hair, eyeing his surroundings. The furniture was all Tevinter, no imports in this room. Surely, there was a carriage or ship that left the harbor nearby.

 

His hands rubbed down his thighs as he attempted to calm himself, eyes faltered towards the stone floor. It takes an hour for the guard outside of the cells to fall asleep if his snoring is anything to say about it.

 

_So, where do we go when we escape the cell? How far will we get before we're captured again._

 

Anders was snapped out of his thoughts by the elf's sobbing, he lifted his head to stare at the two curiously. There was a difference between how Fenris acted after the Need with Danarius, somehow more submissive and docile than with him. The Healer chalks it up to years of conditioning by the Magister's hand.

 

When Danarius has taken his fill of Fenris, he calls for one more piece of equipment, brought forward by a guard. It’s another collar, with a long chain welded directly into it. The collar is snapped and locked around Fenris’ neck, and the other end of the chain is fastened to the ring on Anders’ collar.

 

“There,” Danarius says smugly, sitting back in his seat and admiring the length of chain between them. A little more than a meter in length, and sturdy enough to withstand any measure of pulling. “Now you’re locked together. If the proximity doesn’t make you play nice, then knowing you’ll be dragging around a dead body by your neck if you kill the other should.”

 

Fenris looks up at Anders with tired and frightened eyes. He can tell they both had the same thought-- this is going to complicate the digging plans.

 

“Please, Master,” Fenris begs, not truly expecting whatsoever to have his request granted, it’s more for the theatrics of it. “Please don’t shackle me to him, I beg--”

 

Another slap. “Shut your mouth,” Danarius hisses. Fenris drops his gaze to the floor, trembling and tired.

 

“Apologies, Master,” he shudders out.

 

Anders' lips curled in a snarl when he realized they were chained together, this complicated things. He crawls himself to Danarius' feet and bowed so low that his forehead touched the floor. "Please, don't chain him to me. I beg of you, Master. We won't try to hurt each other again."

 

His voice rose an octave in panic, his lips peppered kisses against the Magister's foot. Disgusting, this whole act was disgusting and pathetic but if it worked; they would be able to continue their escape plan. "I'll do anything you want but please, don't chain me to him."

 

Although, Anders knew he would be punished like the elf had; he refused to give up for fear of being slapped. "I'll do anything as long as I don't have to be chained to him."

 

He receives, instead, a foot to the mouth for his kisses. “Enough, both of you!” Danarius snarls. “Fenris, since when are you so _bold?_ Asking for things, I would have thought better of you by now! You can’t expect to teach Benesol how to conduct himself as a proper slave if you don’t act accordingly yourself. Coach him, or the next punishment he receives you will feel doubly.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Fenris’ head is ducked, his tone cool and tired. They’re lifted from the ground, Anders’ teeth still bleeding from the impact of the Magister’s foot. They don’t dare share a glance at one another for the entirety of the march back down to their cell, where they’re deposited without mercy on the ground after being chained to their respective walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, benesol loosely translates into "good sun" or basically sunshine


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy we're back at it 
> 
> this chapter is pretty short, but it's to make up for the fairly long chapter coming up next

Fenris keeps his head ducked, sitting slumped against the side of his cot with his back turned to Anders. His legs are tucked up beside him, hands hanging limply in his lap. At the very least, the chain between them is slack enough not to pull when they sit at opposite walls.

 

Anders stared blankly at the elf's back, fingers smear the blood from his lips but nothing can quite wipe them clean without using his white shirt as a cloth. His gaze pulled away from Fenris to make sure the guards were gone before he scooted forwards towards him, a hand tugged at the chain that held them together to get his attention.

 

"Leto." He whispers, licking more blood from his lips. "Leto, look at me. We can still get out of here. I have an idea." When he didn't get an answer, he tugged on the chain again. "Leto, why are you ignoring me?"

 

Fenris waves a hand weakly, trying to deter Anders from tugging on the chain anymore. He’s still for a moment after that, and then crumples in on himself, drawing his knees up and hiding his face in his folded arms. His shoulders begin to shake, and Anders can see the full damage those runes have done to his back. Many holes have been burned right through the cloth, and his skin beneath is raw and blistered.

 

Sniffling miserably, he struggles to keep his cries down in volume. The last thing he needs is a guard coming in to yell at them because he can’t compose himself.

 

"Leto, please." Anders sounds more desperate than before as he stares down at the elf's wounded back. "Let me help you." He wasn't sure what he could do considering his powers were null but he could offer comfort. When Fenris still refused to come to him, he shifts back to his own side of the cell.

 

"Fine, I'll come to you." He wraps the chain that attaches to the wall in one hand and braces his feet against the stones, he pulls with all his might to break it from the wall.

 

“Waylon--” he finally turns, sighing. Tears are shiny on his cheeks. He lifts his slip to wipe them away. “Waylon, stop. Stop it,” he crawls forward and offers his hand. “I’m sorry, I-- Hawke-- I didn’t think-- I didn’t expect--” hand outstretched, he lets his head hang low again, another wretched sob leaving his mouth against his will.

 

Anders paused when he heard his name, turning to stare white faced at the elf. The chain slid from his hands as he desperately clawed his way across the cell to take Fenris' hand and squeeze it gently. "It's going to be okay." His voice trembled, he knew full well that it wouldn't be. Hawke had gone above and beyond to prove they were worthless to him.

 

"He's not worth your tears. He doesn't deserve them."

 

“He’s sick, Waylon.”

 

“I know, I know Leto, what he’s done--”

 

“No, I mean he’s _sick_. Didn’t you see it?” Fenris squeezes Anders’ hand. “His eyes. I could see it in his eyes-- red lyrium. He’s poisoned with the stuff.”

 

Anders could only stare at the elf for a moment, tongue wetting his dry lips. "Red lyrium." He whispered coldly. "That could explain the strange shifts in mood but he was an asshole before that." The blond turned towards Fenris with a frown. "Don't let that give you hope, Leto."

 

“But what if he can be helped,” Fenris says, desperate beyond all logic. “What if he’s not even in control of his mind any longer? What if we could find a way to save him? Surely he would--”

 

“Stop it,” Anders grips Fenris’ hand and shakes it. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

 

“I _trusted_ him,” Fenris’ voice breaks, gripping Anders’ hand in return so tightly it hurts. “I can’t bear to think I was wrong to do so…”

 

"Leto, listen to me." Anders whispered harshly, he would hate himself later for this but it needed to be done. "He was not controlled by red lyrium when he broke my heart. I told him that I loved him and he laughed in my face. He _laughed_ at me." His face screwed up as if he were going to cry just thinking about it. "I overheard him telling Carver that he could _smell the crazy coming off of me_. Good men don't do that. He was never a good man."

 

His thumb rubbed gently against Fenris' knuckles. "I know you don't want to hear it but we were both wrong. Wrong about him. Wrong about how we thought he was a good man, an honest one. Just as we were wrong about each other."

 

Fenris squeezes his eyes shut, grinding the heel of his other hand against his eye. His teeth are clenched in a grimace, his shoulders shaking as tears run from his eyes. “I wanted to trust him-- I thought--”

 

He squeezes Anders’ hand and looks up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes. “I have you,” he says, desperately. “Don’t I?”

 

"Andraste's flaming ass, yes. You have me forever." Anders whispered passionately, squeezing his fingers against the elf's. "You never have to question that. I wouldn't leave you to the Need, I refused to let you go with Danarius. I won't leave you when we escape."

 

Fenris feels it like a stab to the belly when Anders says it. He doesn’t want to assume, doesn’t want to assign meaning, and he doesn’t dare ask. Anders doesn't give a reason either, he refuses to say it out loud for fear that he wouldn't feel the same way about him and he can't lose that little ounce of happiness he had.

 

“I’m sorry-- I’m sorry I doubted you. For being a mage, for being--” Fenris swallows hard. He feels like if he doesn’t say it now, he won’t ever have a chance to again. “You’re a good man, Waylon. You’re a good man.”

 

It was Anders’ turn to break down when he heard those words, his sobbing is a mixture of laughter and pained cries. Tears roll down his cheeks as he sniffled, scrubbing them away with the edge of his shirt. "I never thought I'd hear those words before." He laughed. "I've heard that I was a monster my entire life."

 

Anders turned towards the elf. "I'm sorry that I dismissed everything you said about this place. I'm so sorry for waving away your pain because I thought it wasn't as bad as mine." He winced at how his lips stung from the wounds inflicted on him earlier. "Leto, you are like nothing else I have ever seen. A strength unknown to all of Thedas, you are beautiful and stubborn. And so so good." The healer sniffled hard. "You don't deserve this. You deserve to be happy and whole."

 

“We will get out of here together,” Fenris says, his tone furiously determined. “Of that one thing, I am certain.”

 

The chain binding them from neck to neck really does complicate things. Anders has to move to the very end of his chain in order for Fenris to work in the corner at digging away the mortar, which makes the collar tug at his throat. Fenris can only work in short bursts of a minute or so at a time, giving Anders breaks of several minutes in between to recover from the pressure on his throat.

 

Because of this, progress is slow. Fenris shouldn’t have taken it so far, the fact that they’re chained together like this is completely his fault. Every time he watches Anders rub at his raw throat and try to catch his breath, he’s consumed with guilt. He wants to be beside him, to kiss away the pain at the edges of his collar, to take care of him. Anders doesn’t deserve this. He can scarcely look at the man without fire boiling in his belly at the injustice of the mage’s involvement in the situation.

 

He often thinks of how Anders had fought for him that day, when none of the others did. Isabella and Varric had both been there, and Anders was the only one who tried to fight. He wishes the mage had stood idle with the rest. He could fall back into the easy routine of this life if it hadn’t been for Anders. He’ll never stop fighting if giving up meant saddling the mage with this fate for the rest of his life. Anders would never be a good slave, he didn’t have the mindset for it. He’d be broken, beaten, and eventually killed. And that would be merciful.

 

Sharing their meals didn’t wind up working out. Anders insisted at first that he would share his food with Fenris equally, as the elf expected he might. But of course, Danarius is a wicked master, and mealtimes for the week are observed. Fenris drinks his water ration desperately each day, turning his back to Anders so he doesn’t have to watch him eat as the hunger grows. Anders would have refused meals as well in solidarity if it wouldn’t give away his attachment to the elf. Not to mention, Danarius has another servant watch over them during the evening meal, rather than a guard, and Anders gets the feeling that somehow she would be punished as well for his refusing to eat, and so he does, with tears in his eyes.

 

Fenris is very weak by the end of the week, unable to hold himself up on his hands by himself. Danarius forces Anders to beat Fenris for his weakness, and then tosses food on the floor for Fenris to eat off the stone. He does. Danarius laughs.

 

Every few days they leave fresh marks on one another. Fenris scratches Anders’ cheek with his claws, Anders bruises Fenris’ ribs, Fenris scrapes up his own knees in a false scuffle, and once Anders even tugs on the chain attached to Fenris’ collar until a guard had to come separate them, just to add to the illusion.

 

Danarius seems more and more gleeful every time he discovers his pets have hurt one another, and takes great joy in degrading them by forcing them to lick or kiss one another’s wounds. He makes them rut together, try to wrestle for dominance, reward whoever manages to pin the other. If it wouldn’t give him away, Fenris would allow Anders to win every time, but Danarius knows how strong he is, and he knows he would suspect if the skinny mage managed to pin him time after time.

 

Their punishments for hurting eachother are consistent, but at least they don’t escalate. Fenris is stepped on until he’s bloody, Anders is whipped, Fenris is forced into his Need and left to suffer for hours, and Anders is forced to vomit until only bile comes up. They’re difficult to cope with, but at the very least they don’t seem to be getting worse. It’s worth it, since Danarius seems completely convinced that they despise one another, hook line and sinker.

 

Which is their only saving grace in this hell. They might have to pretend to be fiends, but their imagined feud has Danarius often ordering them to kiss, to rut, to lay with one another like lovers. He takes great pleasure in their puppet show of contempt, but once they’re alone again in their cells, their illusion fades away and they can think back on the comfort they both felt in secret when Danarius ordered them to kiss or fuck or whatever other sick thing popped into his mind.

 

No matter what happens in Danarius' estate, Anders always continues to speak with his lover when they're returned to their cage. Quiet whispers of reassurance, constant check ups, check up on the plans for how to escape. Danarius would have made a great Templar, he was just as sick and depraved as some of the men had been in his circle. With their hands clasped tightly together, Anders would often make up stories or talk about what they'd do when they finally got out of this place. His latest story was even more fantastical than the last.

 

"I think it would be lovely to live in the Brecilian forest, don't you?" He states quietly. "We could build a little cottage out in the middle of a grove, flowers growing all around it. We could have a little garden and cats. We wouldn't need a thing either. We could completely sustain ourselves with fish from the river and whatever vegetables are in our garden."

 

“Don’t you think we would get lonely?” Fenris asks as they take a break from his work on the hole in the wall. “You would grow bored without somebody to heal. I don’t get injured often enough on my own to keep you busy. No, I think somewhere crowded and anonymous would suit us better. I could apprentice in a smithee, you could have a little practice… it would be nice.”

 

Anders purses his lips in thought, brows knitting together. He didn't answer for a moment, a smile pulls up on his features. "My lover the blacksmith. You'll come home all dirty from ash with your big burly arms." He teases and nudges Fenris with his shoulder. "You'll have to throw me over your shoulder because I won't stop working. It's definitely an image I could get used to."

 

It brings a smile to Fenris’ face, even if it is unrealistic. He knows that until Danarius is dead, they won’t be able to stop moving. He wouldn’t even bear the injustice of his slave escaping once, let alone that same slave escaping a second time and bringing another slave with him. But it’s fun to dream about it, it certainly makes sleeping easier.

 

“I’m almost done,” he tells Anders, bringing him to the end of his chain so he can scratch at the mortar again, while Anders struggles just to breathe, adding to the painful, tender bruises around his neck. “I think it’ll only be another couple days. Danarius is none the wiser. All we have to do is get the key and we can get out. I hate to say this, but… when the time comes, do you think you could seduce one of the guards and suck him to distract him while you pull the keys from his belt?”

 

Anders knows the predicament they're in, there wouldn't be any rest for the two of them until their 'master' was put to sleep like the rabid dog he is. He stiffens slightly at Fenris' request, lips curling into a frown.

 

"Well, it wouldn't be the worst thing I've done to free myself." He states as if it's simply a fact, his teeth nibble at his lower lip for a moment. "I can distract the guard and get his keys. Hopefully, I can seduce the one that doesn't constantly smell of rat feces. I'm not sure I'd be able to distract him well enough if I have to constantly tolerate that."

 

“If you have his cock in your mouth I don’t think you’ll have to try very hard to distract him,” Fenris mutters disdainfully as another bit of mortar crumbles away. The second to last stone he needs to remove is wiggling, but he can’t remove it just yet, and he gets back to work. “He’ll either keep wearing his belt with it open and you can just slide the keys off, or he’ll set it down and while your mouth is on him you can just pick them off the floor. There will be four or five keys on his ring-- but they’re all for the same locks. Danarius is cheap and likes to pad his guards to make him look more impressive than they are. Just slip one key off the ring, it’s all we’ll need.”

 

He sighs when he turns around to give Anders a break and sees his turbulent expression. “I know,” he says softly. “If they would take me I would offer myself in your place in a heartbeat, but… they… _like_ you,” he says it with a measure of disgust. “And they don’t like my teeth. Especially not when you’re an option.”

 

Anders gave a nod of understanding, he stares through the bars with a contemplative frown. It wouldn't be too hard to seduce the guards, they were constantly groping him and giving backhanded compliments about how pretty he was. In truth, Danarius constantly had him shaved from the chin down. His hair long, brows plucked and since he'd seen the healer, his facial hair hadn't grown in at all. He idly wonders if it had something to do with the oil they keep rubbing into his skin. He's brought out of his thoughts by Fenris' words, turning to offer the elf his best arrogant grin.

 

"Of course, they like me. I'm _such_ a charmer." The joke didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm thin. I have long lashes, pretty blond hair and no muscle mass. Guards like someone weaker than them. You don't have to explain it to me, Fenris. I know you'd never willingly put me into that situation without a reason."

 

Fenris’ eyes drop guiltily anyway. “And when I get the chance I’ll rip their throats out with my teeth, I swear it,” he mutters softly, reaching out to squeeze Anders’ hand again. “Mark my words, what happens to you here will not go unpunished.”

 

Anders sighs softly, he knows the elf will keep his promise and it reassures him enough to calmly think through his plan of seduction. "You act as if I'm the only victim here."

 

Fenris says nothing, only sets back to work. They have to break when dinner is brought to them to hide their progress, eat, and then wait again for the guards to settle before Fenris can get back to work.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning, this chapter is brutal. dead dove, do not eat

It’s the very next morning that the last stone falls out of place, and Fenris lets it roll out into the grass. He measures the hole with a nod. “This will be big enough for us to escape through. All we need is a reason to leave our cage. The next time we’re called to Danarius, whatever horror he has us endure, you have to seduce the guard on our way back as we’re escorted to the cage. Whenever you have an opening. Get him vulnerable, and get that key from his ring. We’ll likely be naked, so… you may have to push it up inside you. It will be worth it once we’re free together, I won’t ever let anyone else hurt you.”

 

It's warmer that morning than it has been in a long time, Anders isn't shivering as much as he usually is. He stares at the hole with hope, golden eyes turning to gaze adoringly at Fenris. "Trust me. I have quite a few ways of hiding a key on my naked body where no one will find it." He winks at the elf. "It was a game I used to play in the circle with some of the other mages." That was an absolute lie but not even the thought of blowing a guard and Danarius would get rid of his humor today. It was the only thing that kept him from breaking into tears and Fenris needed him strong. "Do you think we'll be called on today?"

 

“I don’t know,” Fenris says. “He’s never been predictable in these matters. All I know is that we have to try and be less aggravating than usual, because if he does call us and we’re seriously injured, it’ll make escaping much more difficult. We will have to get to the lake, it’s about a half mile away from his estate through the woods, I’ve been there before many times. There are always boats docked there, and once we’re on the water it’ll be easy to get away. There are man eating fish in the water, even if we’re pursued they won’t be able to swim after us, especially if we make sure to cut all the other boats before we push off.”

 

Anders thought about it seriously for a moment, if Danarius called them around the same time he usually did, then after they would have exactly four hours before the next guard shift. The guards didn't tend to check on them until then, that seemed more than enough time to get to the water and cut all the lines. Man eating fish wasn't really a saving grace for him if they decided to torch their boat with arrows but something told him that Danarius would rather capture them alive. "It would make sense for us to be less aggravating." He murmurs in return. "It's been long enough that we would find a rhythm even the most unintelligible man would be able to figure it out. Honestly, it's getting easier to act like I hate you while enjoying every minute of our façade."

 

Fenris smiles back at Anders as he tosses the piece of ceramic-- which he’d worn down to a smooth nub-- out of the hole, and he scoots his bed back up against it to hide it. “I share the feeling,” he says, coming within hand-holding distance again. “Once we are out of here we will be free to make love and touch each other kindly without having to perform for anybody but ourselves. We’ll never lay a cruel hand to one another again as long as we live. We will live only by kindness and gentleness and decency.”

 

Anders’ heart swells at Fenris’ much more reasonable promise of the future, and opens his mouth to speak, “Fenris, I love--” but he has to cut short when they hear the door to the cell block open, and they have to release hands and sit on opposite sides of the cell again.

 

“Danarius wants you,” the guard says gruffly, opening the cell with one of the keys on his belt. Those keys look like candy now, tantalizing and valuable. They’re led away, nude as ever, but they aren’t brought to Danarius’ room. Instead, they’re brought to a ballroom, where a large number of people have gathered, all wearing masks. At the center sits Danarius, drinking wine, and when they approach him, he kicks forward a box of garments.

 

“Put these on,” he says, and when they move to obey, he says, “Ah! Put them on eachother.”

 

Out spills an assortment of fairly plain jerkins, but they’re nicer than anything else they’ve worn in weeks-- most of which has been nothing at all. Fenris picks up the warmer woolen one, just in case they’ll be permitted to wear these back to their cells, in which case he wants Anders to wear the warmer shirt. It’s plain grey, with some pretty violet velvet around the cuffs, collar and bottom hem, but he runs into a problem where their combined collar is concerned. He only has to look up at Danarius for him to order their chain be temporarily detached from one another, and he’s able to pull the big jerkin down over Anders’ head and straighten it over his shoulders and chest. He looks him in the eye and tells him with green irises what he dare not utter with his words-- you look so handsome.

 

Anders vows to himself silently that he'd tell Fenris afterwards, he'd confess his feelings to the elf when they're free. He'd wrap his arms around those strong shoulders and kiss him until he could no longer breathe. It's all that keeps him sane as they're tugged into a ballroom, there had to be at least forty people here all wearing extravagant masks and beautiful clothing. The healer felt ashamed to be so naked in front of these people, but the tunic he chooses for Fenris is perfect, a dark charcoal black. The elf had always looked so good in black. The contrast between his hair, the tattoos and the tunic was enticing. It was laughable why he'd chosen it but his heart jumped into his throat at Fenris' gaze.

 

Lips part as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it, he moves away from Fenris when he realizes he'd nearly broken character. His lips twist up in mock disgust, gaze dropping towards the ground. It was strange how being naked with someone for so long would make one find that same person attractive in clothing and yet, Fenris looked irresistible. His hair had been brushed out, it hung limply over his slender shoulders as he waits for their orders. What would they have to do for these people? He hadn't thought they were this entertaining to begin with. The chain is isn’t clipped back to Anders’ collar, left to dangle over Fenris’ chest.

 

“This is Fenris and Benesol,” Danarius introduces them to the onlooking group. “They’re my life-size dolls.” a little twitter of polite laughter goes through the crowd, as if they’re being shown an art exhibit rather than two abused and emaciated men. “And the best part is, they hate each other. But I can order then to do anything, and they’ll do it. Watch this-- Fenris, kiss Benesol’s hand.”

 

Fenris turns to look at Anders and takes his hand, bending down to meet it in a kiss. Danarius smirks. “Good, now Benesol, slap him right across the face for such boldness.”

 

It was humiliating how easily these people relaxed to watch the 'show', Anders couldn't believe how many terrible people there were in this place. Was it simply a to get by or did they truly enjoy watching this? The healer manages to keep a straight face even as his heart flutters into his throat at the kiss to his hand.

 

He doesn't hesitate when he's ordered, his hand raises and he slaps Fenris across the face. It was loud enough that it made an audible noise for the group to hear, lips curling into a disgusted frown. They had to respond accordingly, it was necessary if they wanted to survive long enough to escape.

 

Fenris’ face turns away from the slap, but he faces forward again right away. They have to get through this, they have to. They’re so close to freedom he can taste it. He licks his lips while Danarius chuckles at the display.

 

“But, Fenris isn’t done with Benesol yet, Benesol is his one true love, you see,” Danarius says. It surprises Fenris so much that he whips his head around to give his master a genuinely shocked expression, but Danarius only laughs again. “Plead your case to your beloved, Fenris.”

 

Anders had assumed this would be sexual but this was not how it was turning out. He's so shocked that he turns to stare at Danarius in horror before his gaze returns to Fenris. This couldn't be happening, not here, not in front of sadists. His throat works to swallow the scream of frustration that builds quickly, hands squeezing themselves into fists. He has to train his expression into one of disdain, his brows knit together.

 

Fenris swallows hard and looks up at Anders, brows furrowed. A part of him worries that Danarius somehow knows, but-- no, it’s not possible. Their plan has been airtight. This is all just a terrible play for Danarius to enjoy with glee between two men he believes hate eachother viscerally. He keeps his expression firm and his voice flat, but he puts as much emotion into his eyes as he can, he wants Anders to hear him.

 

“Please, Benesol.” he holds a hand to his chest, dropping down to one knee and taking his hand with the other. “I can’t live without you. I need you by my side when I wake up, I need your face to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see before I fall asleep, or else how will I know that when I die in my sleep, the last sight my mortal eyes have seen was the most beautiful sight on earth?”

 

The confession itself was poetic but the look in Fenris' eyes is what nearly melts him onto the stone floor. He's waited so long to hear those words, he wants to pull the elf off the floor and kiss him. Prove to him that he would never leave Fenris' side no matter what was to come but he forces himself to look away, chin raises haughtily as Danarius continues to tell the story.

 

“But Benesol can’t love Fenris,” Danarius smiles wickedly, eyes turning to Anders. “Their fathers have been feuding for twenty years.”

 

"I can not love you, Fenris." He states clearly, enunciating every word with an arrogance that would rival any lord. "Our fathers feud over land and coin, it has been this way for twenty years. This could never be."

 

Fenris gets no instruction from Danarius when he looks over to him, so he just wings it. He takes to his feet, clutching Anders’ hand against his chest. “So to hell with our fathers! They can feud over their precious land and coin until they die loveless with gold in their dead hands. I’d rather live penniless on the run with you for every day of the rest of my life than spend another night in my bed alone without you.”

 

It’s… almost fun. It’s the most fun they’ve had in weeks-- possibly even since before they were taken here, when they were still by Hawke’s side. It’s such a hilarious contrast from their current situation to picture themselves in the role of children to wealthy old men who have the luxury of deciding to run away for fun.

 

It was so easy to slip into the role, Anders had played many throughout his lifetime. "You're as foolish as you are reckless, Fenris. It would never work, not in a million years." He had to stifle the urge to smile, his head dipping down to stare at their feet. "We are destined to remain apart, torn away from each other's arms by our fathers. It is far better this way, you see. I am to be married to one of my father's investors, he has taken a fancy to me and refuses to continue payment unless I am his."

 

The blond lifts his gaze to Fenris' face, searching it quietly. "I must stay here or my family will lose everything. You must understand." He takes a step forward. "Love makes people act like fools and that is exactly what you are doing. Why throw your life away for one happy night or week? What would you gain from it except heartbreak?"

 

Fenris looks at Danarius again to see if he’s enjoyin the show. He and everyone else appear to be completely consumed by the pair. He swallows and looks back at Anders, tugging him against his chest.

 

“Let your family rot,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind Anders’ ear. “Let them fall to ruin, you were always the best part of their family and they’ve never treated you right-- marrying you off to that awful man, he raped you! I would rather live in happiness with you for a single day and be beaten to death by your father’s men than live the rest of my life with health and wealth. I could never live without you because I love you, I need you like the moon needs the sun just to shine-- without you in my life, I’m as dull as a rock.”

 

Anders is at a loss for words, his lips move but nothing falls from them. His heart’s beating so hard that he can taste it, his hands grip against Fenris' biceps as he locks eyes with him. Those words are on the tip of his tongue, he could say them right now but it wouldn't be right. None of this was right. "...I." He glances at Danarius for a moment, nervously wondering if the magister would give him some kind of direction but the elder seems content to let them play it out themselves.

 

"I can't." He wheezes out. "I would rather live with my father's investor, I'd let him rape me a thousand times over to keep you safe." It's too much like the truth, his nostrils flare as melancholy shoots through him. "I am not worth your life."

 

“You _are,_ love,” Fenris cups Anders’ face in both hands, bringing their foreheads together. The veiled truth of this ridiculous scenario is not lost on him, either, his heart aches and burns for this to be true, for their lives to have drama so much simpler than what they must currently suffer. “You are worth everything, even my life. If you won’t be with me because of that investor I’ll kill him with by bear hands to have you, my love is so profound. ”

 

“Benesol couldn’t resist his true love for long,” Danarius smirks, folding his hands in his lap. “Fenris’ pleading wore through his every defense, he would agree to elope.”

 

"...Fenris." Anders struggles to pretend, he wills himself to keep up the facade but it's growing increasingly difficult with the elf's words. His hands shake as they slid down Fenris' chest, griping against his tunic with white knuckled intensity. He hangs on to every word as if it's his only haven, the people watching them melt away as soon as Danarius unwittingly gives him permission to confess.

 

"How can I resist?" He murmurs breathlessly, his nose brushing against Fenris'. "Such beautiful words have never been spoken to me, such promises never whispered. How can I turn you away after that? Only someone truly heartless could carry such guilt, you would lay down your life for me for nothing but a night." Anders swallows hard. "I have tried, oh... I have tried to spurn you but I can not. You have stolen my heart and I find that I do not want it back." His hands slid upwards until they could lay over Fenris'. "I will go with you and I will love you as you love me."

 

Fenris closes his eyes and listens to his words and wills himself not to weep with joy. Hearing these words now fills him with unparalleled hope. He swallows hard and cups Anders’ face, barely hearing Danarius’ next bit in the story, that the lovers shared a kiss, before he was doing so of his own accord, pressing his lips to Anders.

 

They kiss desperately, propped up against one another, clinging in old clothes that don’t belong to them to one another’s skinny, starved frames like they aren’t being put on to perform like a puppet show. Fenris breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against Anders’ again, panting, and only belatedly remembers to contort his expression briefly into one of disgust.

 

Those sweet words echoed in the back of Anders' mind, he could barely make a face of contempt or disgust. His expression falters, twisting in an expression of hopelessness and adoration. He can only beg whatever deity that may be listening that Danarius thinks he's acting, his kiss is loud enough that his groans echo off the walls. Kissing Fenris was like a breath of fresh air, something that he's longed for and craved.

 

“The lovers couldn’t bear their love for one another going on another moment without being properly consummated, so beneath a red willow, they lay in the grass with one another,” Danarius continues the story.

 

It's Danarius' voice that breaks him from the enchantment, makes him realize that they're not alone. Properly consummated. Anders pulls away from Fenris, his features wrinkling in a look of revulsion but try as he might, it was difficult to stifle the butterflies in his stomach.

 

Fenris can almost smell the sweet grass and feel the fronds tickling their cheeks as they lay down on the cold marble tile of the ballroom, Fenris leaned out over Anders. He’s had to perform sexually so many times for Danarius that he barely registers his presence anymore at the worst of times, but now, looking down at Anders like this, the rest of the world falls completely away as he leans down to kiss him again.

 

Anders' long locks tangled on the marble floor like a halo of gold, he gazes up into the elf's piercing green eyes. He can feel the heat of the sun on his skin, hear the rustle of wind through the leaves. His long digits hook behind Fenris' neck to pull him into the kiss, one leg bent to give him support. It was no longer a ruse for them, his lips move from his lover's mouth and down along his neck. "Take me." He whispers. "I am yours."

 

Fenris moans genuinely when Anders gives him attention to his neck and ear. He hasn’t felt real pleasure like this since a drunken and rushed tryst with Hawke years ago-- no. He won’t think about Hawke right now. He rucks up Anders’ little tunic. They don’t have any oil, so he just spits in his hand. He doubts Danarius would give him the courtesy of preparing Anders any other time, but for now, he might as well try.

 

He presses two fingers into Anders, a little more rushed than he’d like, but he doubts Danarius or his audience are very patient, and he sets right into scissoring Anders open. If he can make this pleasurable at all for either of them, he will.

 

His tongue traces along the elf's pointed ear as he whispers softly into it, promises of what it'll be like when this is real. It's so inaudible that Fenris can barely hear it but it's enough, the tone makes all the difference. When two fingers push into him, his back arcs off the marble and his head smacks a little too hard against the floor. He doesn't seem to mind as he moans with abandon, bending his knees up towards his chest to give the elf more room to work.

 

"Please, Fenris." He moans loud enough for the audience to hear. "I can't wait any longer. Take me. Erase the memory of his hands on my body."

 

Those words ring so true for Fenris. He wants to erase every bad thing from Anders’ life, he wants to take him away from here, so far away that he’ll forget they were ever slaves at all. He wants to protect Anders, spare him from this torment. He wants to kill Danarius, kill him with his teeth and his claws.

 

All he can do for now, though, is give Anders just a little bit of pleasure. Saliva doesn’t make for a very effective lubricant, but it’s all they’ve got. He spits in his hand and holds his hand out for Anders, managing a look of revulsion when Anders spits as well. They’re both fairly dehydrated, there isn’t much, but it’s all they have, so he rubs it over his cock, lines up, and pushes inside.

 

He groans, his head dropping down, willing himself not to look at Anders’ face or he would truly be unable to break character, he would look too adoringly at his beautiful expression of pleasure. He hasn’t seen Anders look truly happy in so long, he couldn’t bear to see it now.

 

Anders didn't mind a little bit of pain, he actually likes how it feels to have little lubricant. His teeth snap shut loudly as he stifles his moan, short nails digging into Fenris' biceps. He turns to look away and his gaze catches Danarius' face, there's a look that he can't quite comprehend. The face looks amused but there's something in those eyes. Disgust? Disdain? Is this not what the magister wanted? Humiliation spread across his features as one guest makes a comment about how the next show should feature the blond as a prince and the elf as a savage. How original.

 

He turns away to stare up at the vaulted ceilings, the beauty of the carvings was not lost on Anders. He wants to cling to the elf desperately, confess his feelings until he's out of breath while in the midst of passion but he knows it would ruin their plans. His legs wrap around Fenris' waist and he pulls him down enough to whisper. "We have to hurry it up. They're getting bored of our display."

 

Fenris wastes no time, he knows Anders’ words are true. He begins to thrust, filling Anders again and again, trying to be quick even though he wants to take hours to whisper to Anders all the promises he wants to make. He runs his hands over Anders’ chest, gripping his tunic in both hands, trying to look hostile when all he wants to do is break down and cry.

 

Anders bounces beneath him on the tiles, Fenris’ grip on his clothing the only thing keeping him from getting bounced and scooted away on the slippery tile. Fenris’ bare toes spread for traction on the cold marble. Anders deserves a bed, a fluffy mattress, candlelight-- he’ll fight for as long as it takes to get him everything he deserves.

 

It’s not always easy to work himself up to an orgasm when he’s been put on display like this by Danarius, but looking down at Anders and pushing aside every awful thing going on around them, he can feel pleasure building in his belly.

 

Anders hates how weak he feels, the marble is cold against his bare ass. Despite his best attempts, he can feel tears rolling down from the corners of his eyes. He can hear the gasps and coos from the crowd, soft giggles when his moans echo off the walls. There's a moment when he wonders if Hawke is in the crowd, watching them as they fake hatred while loving every touch.

 

His heels dig into Fenris' lower back, pale fingers desperately clinging to his black tunic. Anders forgets everything else when he turns to look up at the elf, he's lost the moment he spies the look on his face. The slightly frowning lips, how his nose wrinkles in pleasure. His own cock leaks against his stomach and the hem of his tunic, it wasn't going to take him long to finish. The heat between his legs his growing immense, it's been so long since he's had anyone treat him like this.

 

"Claim me." He whispers and it has nothing to do with their play any longer. Anders slides a hand into the elf's hair and pulls him down to demand it. "Come in my body and claim me. I'm yours and only yours."

 

Fenris does. He gives a heartbreaking moan, resting his forehead against Anders’ and reaching between them. He barely has to touch Anders’ cock before he comes too with a cry, his back arching up and his toes curling. When they’re lying there together, eyes closed, panting in sync, Danarius’ little crowd begins to cheer and clap, and the spell is broken.

 

Scrambling backwards off Anders, Fenris wants to help him up, but he knows he can’t, not if they want to keep up the illusion. They’re so close, so close. He looks up at Danarius, who is basking in the praise from his group of ‘friends’ as if he could take any credit for what Fenris and Anders just did to eachother.

 

“Yes, they’re quite performative, aren’t they?” Danarius croons, running a hand over his hair as Anders and Fenris stagger to their feet. “Dismissed,” he waves a hand at them without even looking, while the gathered nobles twitter about how moving the performance was, and praise Danarius for having such well trained slaves.

 

Fenris spares Anders a glance, and then turns on his heel and leaves Anders behind. He knows Anders knows what must be done. He has to take a head start so Anders will be alone to seduce the guard. That’s all he has to do, and then they’ll be free by nightfall.

 

Anders ignores the feeling of liquid rolling down his thighs, he knows what he must look like right now. His hair mussed, cheeks red, he looks like a whore but it would work for what comes next. He stumbles behind Fenris, legs shaking as if he could barely stand up after the performance. It wasn't all acting, however. When they're in the corridor, away from Danarius and his 'friends', Anders staggers into one of the guards and clings to him.

 

He rolls pretty golden eyes to stare at the guard, a delirious smile pulls on his features. "Maker, look at you." He murmurs, running fingers along the guard's chest. "You're so handsome." The guard had stopped when Anders had clung to him, a dark brow raising quizzically. "I love a man with beard, nothing at all like that elf that I have to perform with. I need a real man to use me." His fingers brush against the guard's cock playfully as he swallows down his disgust.

 

"Play with me, just a little bit?" His tongue flicks across his lower lip. "I promise I won't disappoint."

 

The guard is stunned, to say the least. He’s one Anders isn’t familiar with, a remarkably average looking man, but at least it isn’t mr. rat shit. The guard shuffles with him into an alcove behind a curtain and Anders hastily drops to his knees.

 

“Wow-- right here?” the guard is almost charming at first, completely taken aback by Anders’ forwardness as he reaches for his belt and pries it apart, pulling it down along with his trousers to his knees. “Well-- fuck, okay, we’re doing this.”

 

"Yeah, why not? Fenris would tell on us if he saw us, the little fucking brown-noser-- and what if I want to do it again?" Anders smirks up at him.

 

The guard grabs Anders’ hair when he takes the guard’s flaccid cock into his mouth, and he immediately begins to harden, filling with blood between Anders’ teeth.

 

Anders hadn't realized it would be this easy, he'd expected more of a fight out of the guard. He almost feels bad at how easily the guard is duped by his flirtatious and frankly, fake compliments but he's not going to complain about it.

 

His lips suck down the guard's cock easily enough, massaging over it with his tongue until it was fully erect. He moans around the length, immediately hollowing his lips and sucking hard. He wants to give it another moment, wait until the guard is thoroughly distracted before grabbing the key.

 

The guard’s head tips back against the wall behind him and he keeps a solid grip on Anders’ hair as he begins to thrust between his lips, completely enraptured by the pleasure. His cock isn’t very big, which makes sucking him easy, Anders doesn’t have to fight for air or struggle not to choke or see through tears. All he has to do is run his hands down the guard’s legs and then slowly work the ring off his belt without jangling the keys around and alerting the guard to what he’s doing.

 

Anders stares up at the guard with wide eyes, watching every movement of his head to make sure he won't look down. He hums and moans to add vibrations along the guard's cock while fingers begin to work the ring off his belt. The blond pauses when the man looks down at him, fingers hooking into the belt for 'better leverage'. Once those eyes close and the guard's head tilts backwards, he starts working again. He nearly drops the ring when it slides free from the guard's belt, he takes the man's cock to the hilt and swallows hard to keep him distracted from the slight jingle of keys.

 

The guard moans loudly enough that Anders doesn’t really have to worry about him hearing as he works one of the keys off the ring. The hand in his hair is starting to hurt, and the brutal pace of the guard’s hips is making his jaw ache, but he got it. He got what he came for. He slips the ring back onto the guard’s belt and works the key up between his legs to hold it between his thighs, grateful that Danarius didn’t strip them naked before sending them on their way.

 

The guard comes in his mouth, a bitter and unpleasant flavor, but Anders swallows anyway. The guard goes slack against the wall, panting and grinning dopily down at Anders. He licks over his lips triumphantly and he gives the guard a charming smile. His hand brushes through his hair, massaging over his scalp to ease the tingle of pain. "M'hm. You taste so good." He had to make the guard believe it, he leans in to press a kiss against the tip of his cock.

 

The guard gasps, “You said-- again sometime?”

 

"Again and again," He would have felt worse but his jaw aches and he feels the start of a headache appearing behind his eyes. "Maybe next time, you can bend me over. If you don't mind the mess."

 

“Yeah,” the guard yanks his pants up and fastens his belt, none the wiser about his missing key. “Now come on, I gotta get you back to your cage before Danarius finds out what I did.”

 

He peeks out from behind the curtain and then leads Anders back to the dungeon, where he’s shoved inside. His wrist is locked back into the manacle at the wall, and the chain still hanging from Fenris’ collar is clipped to Anders’ and locked in place.

 

Fenris is sitting slumped against the wall, his knees bent up inside his tunic, and he doesn’t dare move or even breathe until the door to the cell block has closed loudly, and they’re plunged into silence for several seconds.

 

His head whips over to look at Anders. “Did you get it?”

 

Anders masks his face into a frown when he's locked up, giving the guard one last sultry look before he disappears out the door. His lips split into a grin as he turns to look at Fenris, he reaches between his legs and produces the key. "Of course, I did." He whispers, offering the elf a quick wink. "No one can resist my charm."

 

He quickly moves to unlock his wrist'. "I can't believe how easy that was. He went right for it and he didn't last very long either." He brushes a hand through his hair when the elf's finally free. "Honestly, that's probably the best blowjob that guard will ever have in his entire life."

 

Fenris stops Anders, holding out a hand. “We can’t leave until nightfall,” he says, “Too risky. Just one more day in this cell, and we’ll be free.”

 

Anders has to put the key back between his thighs with a miserable expression. “Just one more day,” he promises Anders softly. “Just one more.”

 

The wait is agony. Nothing is worse than smelling freedom and being just out of reach to taste it. The hole casts a breeze through the cell, even with Fenris’ bed pushed up against it, making them shiver, reminding them of how very close they are. Time takes extra long to pass that day. They barely even speak, terrified of somehow being found out so close to freedom.

 

When night finally falls and the tiny slitted window near the ceiling is pitch dark, Fenris gives Anders a nod. “It’s time,” he murmurs, and Anders nods. He makes quick work of the shackles around their wrists and the collars at their throats. Fenris crawls over to Anders’ side and spares just a moment to cup his face and kiss him, stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs.

 

“This time tomorrow we’ll be holed up somewhere warm, with trousers and food in our bellies,” he promises, resting his forehead against Anders’ and closing his eyes. “I swear it.”

 

During that time, Anders' mind had formulated every single way that this could have gone wrong. Danarius, for all that he was cruel, was an extremely intelligent man and it worried him that he'd seem so... oblivious. Perhaps it was just obvious to Anders since he'd been a part of it but something nagged at him. He brushed it off as jitters before an escape, he'd had them many years ago in the circle. Danarius had grown complacent with their play maybe that's why he hadn't noticed.

 

The kiss to his lips made him sigh with longing, he was so accustomed to it now. Fenris was his only anchor, the only reason he hadn't lost his mind while they were here. "You swear quite a lot, Leto." He whispers to the elf, he places another kiss against his lips. "I have never doubted you. Now, we have to get out of here. We can kiss more later once we're free."

 

Anders grasps the bed, pulling it away from the hole. He hesitates, fear sinking into his belly and he turns to stare at Fenris.

 

The elf leads, laying down on his belly and peeking out the hole. “The coast is clear,” he whispers before shimmying out through the hole. It’s a tight squeeze, they probably could have held off another few days and chiseled out another brick and it would have been more comfortable, but it’s too late, now. He rolls out into the grass outside Danarius’ estate and looks up into the moonlit sky with the eyes of a free man.

 

He turns around to help pull Anders out of the hole and then they both stand together, drenched in milky white moonlight. He looks at Anders, a free man, and thinks he’s never looked so beautiful in all his life. He doesn’t dare speak now, he just takes Anders’ hand and they run down the grassy hill together hand in hand.

 

Anders is so pale in the moonlight, he almost looks like he's glowing. He flashes a teary smile at Fenris, breathless at the sight of the elf. He offers a soft huff of laughter before they're running down the grassy hill, Anders' hair whipping behind him as they escape into the woods.

 

Plunging into the woods settles them into darkness, but Fenris’ eyes are made for this. He weaves them through the trees effortlessly, his feet nimble and quick in the grass and over branches. His hand in Anders’ keeps him upright, tugging him in the right directions.

 

The woods are hard for Anders to navigate, he's practically blind without Fenris' help. He stumbles and he's more than sure his legs are cut up when he crashes through a bush. Anders doesn't care, they'll be free soon and he'll be able to heal himself. Actually, the thought crosses his mind that he might not be able to cast since it's been so long if they need to fight back.

 

When they break through the treeline, they can see the lake in the distance. Fenris’ breath catches in his throat as he looks around, trying to find anyone nearby. It looks like coast is clear. “We’ll take one of those boats,” he points to the little pinprick boats tied to the strip of dock jutting out over the black water. “Untie as many boats as we can along the way and push them out into the water-- better yet, turn them over and sink them.”

 

His gaze flicks towards the boats, eyeing each of them. "We're almost there, Leto." He murmurs, wiping a tear from his cheek. Hope spread through his chest, fingers tingled in anticipation. "We're almost free." He turns to the elf and pulls him in for one more kiss. "I'll never leave you, I promise."

 

Fenris takes a moment to kiss him again before they creep out past the treeline. They begin to head down the hill with a little more stealth, hyper vigilant for every sound-- and then they hear the one thing they dreaded.

 

“There they are!”

 

Fenris’ head whips back just in time to see several guards cresting over the hill, with a very smug Danarius among their ranks. Fenris’ heart stops, his stomach sinks. No! They were so close!

 

“Run!” he shouts to Anders. If they can just get to a boat-- Anders takes off at a dead sprint, Fenris at his heels.

 

There was no need to tell the blond twice, Anders bolts down the hill and stumbles slightly. He manages to keep his balance as he drops on to the docks, turning to make sure Fenris is behind him. They wouldn't be able to sink all of the boats in time unless...

 

Anders glances down at his hands and raises them upwards towards the boats. "Come on. Come on." He shakes out his hands as the spell fizzles the first two times, one boat finally catches on fire. It's far less than he'd be able to do on a regular night but he can't have the guards following them.

 

"Leto! Get the ropes, I'll set the rest of the boats on fire."

 

“No, just go!” Fenris shouts. “There’s no time! There’s no--”

 

"I'm not going to leave without you!" Anders turns away from the boats just as Fenris' voice cuts off, summoning whatever power he has left within him.

 

Fenris stumbles and nearly falls as pain slices through him like he’s just been cut in half, and he looks down to a horrifying sight-- four prongs of a grappling hook that had just been shot through his belly, opened and digging into his skin. He looks up and meets Anders eyes just as the chain from the other end is tugged, and he loses his footing, collapsing several feet back on his side.

 

Danarius puts his foot on Fenris’ ribs and forces him over onto his belly, crushing the hooks into him. Fenris’ scream is muffled in the ground as the magister sneers at Anders.

 

“Thought you could escape, did you?”

 

The flames on Anders' hands die instantly when he sees the grappling hook in Fenris' belly, a wound like that couldn't be healed. The elf was as good as dead without someone who knew what they were doing and Anders didn't trust anyone but himself to do it.

 

"Leto..." He whimpers as the guards grab at him roughly, he stares at nothing but the elf curled up on the ground. "I w-won't ever try to escape again. Just let me heal him, please!" Anders doesn't try to pull free when he's dragged forward. "I'll do anything you want but please, don't let him die."

 

The chain is dropped down onto Fenris’ back as Anders is tugged roughly away from Fenris’ side. He screams and kicks and fights, but the guards are bigger and stronger than him. The last he sees of Fenris is the sight of him being yanked up to his knees by Danarius’ fist in his hair and being struck across the face before they crest over the hill.

 

He fights and fights until his muscles ache. Tears stream down his face, his tunic is torn, and he’s thrown into a new cell, far away from the one he’d been in with Fenris. This is a free standing cell with bars on all four sides, and the door is slammed in his face.

 

"No!" He screams, kicking at the guards legs with his bare feet. "Please, let me heal him. I'll do anything." Anders melts part of the guard's armor before he's thrown in the cell but he doesn't stop there. He continues to scream and yell, smashing his fingers into the bars and trying to squeeze through them.

 

Fenris was the one thing that kept him from losing all hope and now, it was gone. Everything was gone. Their freedom, the illusion of a happy life even Fenris. Anders screams until his throat is raw, he screams until he can't make a sound.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow its been a hot minute since the last update huh

Lying on the floor of this windowless cell on his side, Anders has no idea how many days pass. He refuses meals, he doesn’t even move. Sorrow like nothing else has settled in his heart and even though he has the magic now to melt the bars, all will to escape has left him.

  
  
There’s nothing left in his world, now. He thinks that this is what it must feel like to be broken. He finds himself thinking about what it might be like to just be a good slave. Perhaps if he behaves, he can just waste away into anonymity, if his broken heart doesn’t kill him first. It feels wrong now, somehow, to leave the place where Fenris was killed.

  
  
When he’s finally brought to Danarius, he’s weak and doesn’t fight. He doesn’t spit fire or struggle, he just lets himself be led, and kneels down in front of Danarius’ feet. It’s just like when they first arrived, with Fenris hurt by a bellywound, and he thought he was dead. But something feels so much more… final, this time. He knows Fenris is gone, in his heart. He can feel it.

  
  
“I’m sure you have questions,” Danarius croons, sipping from a goblet of wine.

  
  
Anders sways on his knees, he can barely keep his eyes open. There's no way that Fenris could survive a belly wound like that, no one could survive something like that. He knows the elf is gone and he wonders if Danarius will kill him next. He longs for the sweet release that death would bring him maybe then and only then would he be granted a life with the elf.

  
  
"I know better than to question my master." He wheezes out, head dipping towards his chest. He has no strength left, no will to fight or survive.

  
  
Danarius’ smile twitches for a moment, apparently displeased by that answer. “You don’t want to know how I knew you and the elf were escaping?”

  
  
Anders' shoulders sag, his fingers curling in his torn and tattered tunic. "You are smarter than any slave, master," He whispers. "I was foolish to think we could ever deceive you."

  
  
“Yes, you were,” Danarius sneers, and then waves for the door. “Bring her in.”

  
  
Anders’ head turns to see a girl he doesn’t really recognize, even though he’s certain he’s seen her face before. She’s brought in roughly with a hand around her arm, and tossed down onto her knees beside Anders. Her eyes are puffy like she’s been crying, and she immediately ducks her head down and whispers to Anders, “I’m sorry.”

  
  
“Tell him what you did, girl,” Danarius sneers to the elf. 

  
She sniffles. “When the elf broke the bowl, I-- I tried to take the pieces for myself. We aren’t given nice cookware and I knew master would just throw it out. But there was a p-- a piece missing.”

  
“A piece missing,” Danarius echoes with a nod. “And then what did you do?”

  
“I-- I reported it,” she sniffles. “Because I wanted a reward.”

  
“And you got one,” Danarius encourages. 

  
“I-- I did,” she sobs weakly. “I got a-- a whole set of pretty ceramic bowls and plates-- I’m so sorry,” she looks up at Anders, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I didn’t _know_.”

  
Anders' teeth grind together, she sold them out for a set of bowls and plates. She ruined their chance at freedom, Fenris ended up dying because of her. He wants to strangle her, he wants to set her on fire or something to get retaliation for what she'd done. Flames lick at the curtains nearby but he doesn't realize he'd set them on fire, he turns to glare at the servant. Normally, the tears may have pulled at him and he would forgive but he feels nothing for her.

  
  
"You..." He hisses out between clenched teeth. "You selfish little bitch." Tears burn his cheeks as he verbally insults her. He doesn’t even know if he’s yelling at her, or at himself. "What's ceramic plates to a life! They're worthless. It's worthless. He's dead! He's dead because of you and your selfishness." 

  
“I’m sorry!” she sobs, covering her face with both hands. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know!” 

  
Danarius looks pleased, grinning to himself. “Strike her, Benesol. Fenris is dead because of her. It’s her fault your beloved elf is gone forever, strike her down.”

  
Anders didn't even hesitate, he strikes her across the face with the back of his hand and when she hits the ground, his hands wrapped around her throat and started to squeeze. He has nothing left, he feels nothing. He'd been raped, tortured, put in isolation for days without food. He was exhausted, sleep deprived and broken. His lips split into a grimace, teeth flashing dangerously as he screams in fury. 

  
He was so dehydrated that he couldn't even cry anymore, he just wants so badly to be killed. He wants to end it and if he can't end his own, he'd could give someone else a mercy killing. She shouldn’t have to live here either. 

  
She struggles and squirms, desperately clawing at Anders’ face, trying to pry her off of him, but Anders doesn’t relent. He squeezes until her face goes red and her eyes bulge-- and then a movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. 

  
He looks up and his hands fly off of her like he’s been burned when he sees Fenris. Standing beside Danarius’ throne, totally nude with a scar in his belly, but otherwise looking washed and combed and healthy. 

  
“Is this him, master?” Fenris’ voice croons softly. “The one from the asylum.”

  
  
“Yes, Fenris, this is him,” Danarius watches Anders’ expression with a smug smile. “What do you think?”

  
  
Fenris’ nose wrinkles mildly, like he’s looking at an earth worm. “He looks insane.”

  
  
“He _is_ , pet. He is.”

  
  
Anders starts laughing, raspy soft little giggles as he stares up at the elf. It didn't help that Danarius had already called him insane and at this point, the blond wasn't sure if he could argue with it. He feels as if he's going insane, hands reaching up to tug at his long locks. Tears roll down his cheeks as he just stares, he's so happy that Fenris isn't dead. The whiplash has him crying and laughing at the same time, he couldn't believe he had enough water in him to produce tears.

  
  
He's so caught up in the moment that he sees nothing else, hears nothing else. "Fenris, you're alive. I thought you were dead. No one could survive that. No one could!"

  
“Master, what is he talking about?” Fenris leans in towards Danarius. 

  
“I told you, pet, he’s insane,” Danarius reaches up to pet the back of Fenris’ neck, and he doesn’t even flinch. “He thinks he’s in love with you, remember? He’s delusional.”

  
“In love with _me?”_ Fenris says mildly, looking over Anders and regarding him with so little emotion and recognition, he might as well be taking in the sight of a mediocre art piece for the first time. 

  
“That’s right, pet,” Danarius says, running ringed fingers through Fenris’ hair when he kneels obediently at the magister’s side. “He caught sight of you in the infirmary while you were in a coma for the past five years, and invented a story in his mind about how he’s in love with you. It’s sad, really.”

  
"N-no!" Anders yells out, crawling forward with a hand outstretched towards the elf. "That's not true. I didn't invent a story about how I'm in love with you. We met in Kirkwall! You'd run away from Danarius and you met Hawke. We hated each other at first because I was a mage but I helped you. I _healed_ you. We fell in love. You have to remember!"

  
Fenris flinches away from Anders, his expression scrunching up into disgust as he shrinks against the side of Danarius’ chair, and the magister puts a hand around his shoulders. 

  
"Leto, please!" He can't take much more of this, his heart shattering into pieces as Fenris stares down at him without any emotion. "Leto, it's me. It's Waylon. Please, remember me."

  
“My name is Fenris,” he says, looking up at Danarius. “Who’s Leto?”

  
“It’s the name he invented for you,” Danarius clucks his tongue. “I only took this slave as a promise to a friend. He was his favorite, you see, but he beat him too severely because he was a bad slave, and scrambled his brains. He’s been in an asylum for years, and now I’m looking after him. Kirkwall is the name of the asylum, Fenris. It’s all a story made up in his head.”

  
“That is sad,” Fenris shakes his head in disdain. “You are a kind master for looking after him. I think he should just be put down.”

  
  
Danarius gives a startled but delighted laugh. “Oh? Would you do the honors, if I asked?”

  
  
“Do you want me to?” Fenris looks up at Danarius, but the magister simply waves his hand dismissively.

  
  
“No, I wouldn’t be a very good friend to his old master if I did that, I promised to look after him. He’ll forget this story he’s invented in time. People like him create new delusions for themselves all the time.”

  
  
Anders himself starts to wonder if it was true, it would make so much sense. The circle, the abuse, falling in love with a Tevinter slave who hated mages, Kirkwall. Maybe it was all in his head. He stares down at his broken and dirty fingernails, over the bruised and bloody knuckles. Nothing made sense.

  
  
There wasn't any fight left in him, he curls in on himself and wraps arms around his middle. Delusions? Had it all been a delusion that his own mind had made up to comfort himself? How long had he truly been in isolation? Danarius had won, the guards had removed the injured girl while he was too busy staring at Fenris. "I'm sorry. I promised I would never leave you and I won't. I won't. I'll do whatever I have to." He whispers it like a mantra. All he has left is his memories but now, he's doubting if they were ever real.

  
  
"C-can I stay?" Anders looks up at the magister with wide pleading eyes. "I'll be good. I promise that I'll be good."

  
A line appears between Danarius’ brows. He’d expected more of a fight from Anders, hoped for more even. He certainly hadn’t expected _Anders_ to fall for the story he’d just weaved for Fenris. He crosses his ankles in thought. He’ll need to bait Anders just enough to give him hope without tipping him over the edge, otherwise this will get very boring very quickly.

  
  
“Perhaps I will have Fenris take care of you,” he looks at the elf in thought. “What do you think, little wolf? Would you like a new pet?”

  
  
Fenris’ nose wrinkles. “If master wishes,” disdain drips from his voice.

  
  
There was a hint of something in Anders' eyes when he lifts his gaze up to the magister, he hadn't expected Danarius to offer something like that. Suspicion? Hope? It was hard to tell with how exhausted he looked, he crawls forward and clasps his hands under his chin. "I'll be good." His eyes flick between the two before resting on Danarius. "I promise I'll listen and I'll be good."

  
  
He turns his golden eyed gaze to Fenris, staring up at him pleadingly. "I promise I won't cause you any trouble."

  
  
“Very well,” Danarius says, giving Fenris’ shoulder a squeeze. “A slave for a slave. Congratulations, Benesol, you’ve achieved the official new lowest low for humankind.”

  
  
And he laughs then, while Fenris just look dully at Anders, sizing him up like he’s deciding whether or not to think of him as a person. And then Danarius shakes him lightly by the shoulder. “It’s funny, Fenris! Laugh!” and Fenris does.

  
  
Anders watches the two through hazy eyes, his expression heavy and emotionless. All those promises of freedom, the idea of them together in a quaint little cottage was a hopeless dream. He bows so low his forehead touches the floor, hands clutching his stomach as he cries. At least he had Fenris when they first arrived but now, he no longer has that. He has nothing but the bittersweet torturous memories that Fenris can no longer remember.

  
  
“Take him to your quarters,” Danarius says. “Do with him what you will. You have permission to do anything you want to him. And remember, Fenris, he will try to poison your mind with his delusions. You are stronger than him.”

  
  
“Thank you master,” Fenris says, dipping his head and then he walks past Anders at a brisk clip and pats his thigh as if beckoning a dog.

  
  
Anders obeys immediately, scrambling to his feet and following after the elf frantically. _It's okay,_ he tells himself, _Perhaps it's all an act and when we're alone, he'll drop it._ It's only a half-hearted pep talk, the acting was far too good. Usually Fenris could speak to him without uttering a word through nothing but his eyes, but the expression on his face, it was truly as if he didn't recognize Anders. His sniffles are the only sound between them, he wipes his face with the backs of his hands.

  
  
“Stop crying,” he hears Fenris bark harshly as they walk through the gilded halls. “You should be grateful. Master has given you a good home out of the kindness of his heart. You would be put down if not for his generosity. You have no right to sniffle like a child.”

  
  
Anders sucks in a breath, his arms wrap around his skinny frame. "Would you rather me chirp and sing like a bird?" The anger is easier to handle than the overwhelming melancholy that fills him. "One who knowingly lives it's life in a cage, unable to feel the wind caress through it's feathers?"

  
  
“I would rather you make no noise at all,” Fenris says coldly as they round a final corner and head into a significantly less impressive corridor, where he opens a door and ushers Anders inside. It isn’t terribly much, a simple dresser and a plain wooden bed with a thin mattress and grey blankets, an oil lamp and a wash basin and a small writing desk with a stool make up the only furniture. There’s a thin window on the wall, too skinny to be a viable escape route.

  
  
“This is our shared home now, I suppose,” Fenris says. “The bed is mine. I’ll find something for you... later. You may sleep on the floor.”

  
  
The comment hits too close to home, Anders remembers the first time the elf said something similar back in Kirkwall. It was a ridiculous fight started over something so simple, laughable to think how their quarrels back then were so small compared to this. Weary eyes examine the room with little interest, not even the window gains a second glance.

  
  
"I'm used to the floor." Anders runs a hand through his dirty blond hair, it's been a month since it was cut. The long locks nearly brushing against his shoulders, it tangles around his face. He takes a spot in the corner, back against the wall so he can pull his legs up to his chest.

  
  
He watches as Fenris goes about his regular nightly routine, scrubbing his face in the wash basin, washing his hands and taking a cloth to his arms and neck and underarms. He paces around for a moment then, looking confused and restless, before shaking his head and sitting down on the edge of his bed.

  
  
Glancing over at Anders, he snaps, “Why are you staring at me.”

  
Anders stiffens, immediately looking towards the wall with brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, you seemed disoriented and troubled. I was trying to determine what I should do or if I should say anything."

  
“Oh,” Fenris deflates slightly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “It’s just-- my armor and sword aren’t here and I don’t remember where they are. I’ll have to ask Master about it tomorrow. I can’t remember if he took them away or if they’re getting repairs or if I misplaced them...” he trails off, still looking around, as if _anything_ could be hiding in the tiny square of a room they’re stuck in.

  
"I would think repairs are the most likely option." Anders lays his cheek on his knees. He's unsure why he's comforting the elf. Habit? No, he knows the reason. Even if Fenris doesn't remember, he does and he still loves the elf dearly. "I bet you'll get them soon. All nice and shiny like they're brand new."

  
“You’re probably right,” Fenris says, and climbs into his bed. He settles the thin blanket over his legs and reaches over for the oil lamp, but he pauses then, and settles his hand back in his lap to fix Anders with a look. “Tell me about your last master. The one who beat you so severely you lost your mind? Do you even remember him?”

  
Anders' first instinct was to say that he had no master but given the Circle and Hawke. Dirty fingers brush through his long locks, head dropping back against the wall. "I didn't think he was an evil man at first. He seemed so kind, willingly aiding people. I didn't know at the time that it was for his own benefit." His jaw tightens, brows furrow as he stares at the wall as if replaying memories in his own head. 

  
"I loved him at first. I willingly followed him everywhere without hesitation, threw everything I had at his feet." He turns towards Fenris, it's strange discussing this with him. Someone who knew Hawke, already knew what he'd gone through. "He laughed at me when I confessed my feelings. He regularly insulted me, demeaned me in front of his friends. At one point, I had tried to protect someone I deeply cared for from him. It landed me in Hell." His eyes squeeze shut. "I thought at first that I could handle it. I've had worse but it's much worse than I imagined. There's not a single break, no moments of peace to soothe my wounds before it begins again."

  
“That’s here?” Fenris asks. “You don’t have to worry. Danarius can be harsh, but he’s fair if you behave. All you have to do is behave. Follow his orders, learn his body language. I can help teach you. I think I _have_ to help teach you, I think I’m responsible for you now.”

  
"Fair? Nothing about this is fair." Anders scoffs.  
  
“A slave’s slave,” Fenris continues musing as if Anders didn’t even speak. “I think I could technically tell you to do anything I wanted, and you’d have to do it if you wanted to avoid punishment.”

  
  
Anders swallows hard at that realization, it finally dawns on him that the man he'd known is truly gone. Had Danarius rid him of the memories completely or was it just buried under false ones? "I suppose that is true." He says between clenched teeth.

  
  
Fenris smirks. “An interesting situation we’ve found ourselves in,” he says, and then turns off the oil lamp, and rolls over to sleep.

  
  
It occurs to Anders somewhere in the darkness as he sits huddled in the corner, that Fenris hadn’t locked the door, and he hadn’t heard anybody else come by to lock the door either. He would get up to check, if he wasn’t certain the elf’s keen hearing makes him a light sleeper. He knows that firsthand, and he wouldn’t want to risk an encounter with him in this state, in which Fenris hardly knows him. It’s a power move, he realizes. The door is unlocked, and Danarius knows he still can’t leave. There’s no physical barrier keeping him from sneaking out of the room and through the halls and finding his own way out of the manor, but Danarius knows he wouldn’t leave Fenris behind. And blast it, he’s right.

  
  
It wasn't just that either, it was the promise he'd made to Fenris when they first found themselves here. _You will always have me._ Anders couldn't bear the thought of leaving the elf behind, no matter what situation they landed themselves in. Surely Fenris wasn't completely erased, he could bring him back. Probably. Hopefully.

  
  
 **Foolish thoughts,** A familiar voice echoes in his head causing Anders to stiffen where he sits, jaw tightening to muffle his gasp of surprise. **Your survival is of the utmost importance and Fenris would understand that.**

  
Anders hasn't heard Justice's voice in weeks. A hand reaches up to his neck, the inhibitor collar is gone. How could they have forgotten to put it back on? He could use his magic again, he could kill Danarius.

  
  
**Aim true, strike him at his weakest moment. Leave nothing remaining but ash.**   
  


The morning comes in a hazy grey mist that feels befitting of the general mood that comes with it. Anders is buzzing with energy, he knows what’s coming today. They didn’t put the collar back on him. He’ll kill Danarius so fast nobody will have even seen it coming, and then he’ll take Fenris with him and run, and worry about unlocking or revitalizing his memories later. 

  
Fenris is called to Danarius’ side that morning, which means he brings his new ‘pet’ with him too, of course. He walks briskly through the halls, forcing the underfed, out of shape mage to jog along to keep up with him, out of breath and achey. 

  
“Don’t embarrass me in front of master today,” Fenris says sharply as they turn a corner towards Danarius’ study chambers. “Today is my first full day with you as my ward, and if you misbehave, I’ll be punished in your stead.”

  
That punishment would only happen if Anders didn't kill Danarius first but he simply nods, holding up the ruse for now. Docile, submissive and quiet. He's so weak that he knows he'll only be able to get one shot before taking the Magister out. Enough energy for maybe a fireball or two but nothing extensive, drawing on Justice would only give him enough boost to escape afterwards.

  
"What exactly are the duties for today? Will I be getting clothes or am I to remain like this?"

  
Fenris looks back at Anders like he’s seeing him for the first time. He’s still dressed in the same jerkin that he put on for that performance he and Fenris were forced to put on for the onlookers at the ball. It’s filthy, stained with blood that splattered onto him from Fenris’ wound, and is only barely long enough to cover his bottom. 

  
“You’ll get whatever master decides to give to you,” Fenris says coldly, “And you will be grateful for it, whatever it is. There’s no honor in being ashamed of your nakedness. They will always try to strip you down to your skin to shame you, but if you have no shame in your skin, they can’t hurt you with it.”

  
It’s the kindest thing he’s said to Anders since he was remade like this. Anders gazes down at his own body, he's not like the elf. Fenris was aesthetically pleasing, fit and lithe, even when malnourished. The mage was so skinny, gaunt and pale. He looked like the remnants of a ghost, not enough to even be more than an apparition. 

  
"Perhaps if I was still at a healthy weight and not caked in dirt, I would have that confidence." With Justice, he may be able to succeed in it for now. Anders wouldn't have to deal with it much longer, the moment he had that opening. He could feel his hands twitching in anticipation, that old vibrating thrum of energy deep in his core. It's the first time in awhile that he's truly felt alive.

  
“It isn’t confidence,” Fenris says. “Confidence is for people with power who have earned it and deserve it. It’s rather being at peace. With your station, with your position. You are made to be naked. You are a slave. The sooner you give up the notion that you should be treated with respect just for existing, the sooner you will find that peace. Anyone can exist, it doesn’t make you special.”

  
The anger bubbles in his chest, threatening to spill from his mouth in a rage filled rant but he stifles it. Anders bites down on his tongue until he can taste the blood, inhaling sharply through his nose as hands flex into fists at his side. Despite all he's fought for, everything he's done, Anders answers with one single word. "Fine." Dignity and decency were off the table in Tevinter.

  
The rage quickly melts into sorrow, however. How long had Fenris spent being told those very words? How long had he believed them, how hard had he fought to be free of the subjugation of those very rehearsed words he just gave to Anders, only to be shackled by them again by whatever Danarius did to his memories? It’s too much to bear, he’s almost _happy_ for the fact that they arrive at the master’s chambers. 

  
Fenris enters with his head bowed, and swats Anders lightly on the back of the neck when he fails to do the same, as they approach Danarius where he’s seated at a grand desk with an obscene velvet armchair casting shadows in front of a crackling fireplace. 

  
“You called for us master,” Fenris says, keeping his head ducked. 

  
“Yes, I thought you might resume your previous duties today, Fenris,” Danarius says airily without looking up from whatever he’s scrawling on parchment with a quill. 

  
“Thank you,” Fenris sounds relieved. “But I... remind me why I wasn’t already?”

  
“You were injured, remember?” Danarius still doesn’t even glance up, but he does some kind of gesture that has Fenris immediately moving to his side. “You were hurt and you hit your head, I’m not surprised your memories are a little scrambled. The scar on your belly.”

  
“Right,” Fenris’ hand moves to his stomach but his expression is pinched with confusion. “I don’t remember what happened.”

  
Danarius’ quill stops, and he looks up at Fenris. “Are you questioning me?”

  
“No, I was just--” Fenris starts, but before he can finish, Danarius backhands him across the face. 

  
Anders had been aware of the movement but the resonating sound of a slap still makes him flinch. His heart jumps into his throat, adrenaline surges through his veins. It's the perfect moment to strike, Danarius' attention is fixated on Fenris.

  
Justice flares to life, bright blue light etches out over Anders’ skin as glowing eyes lifts towards Danarius' face. 

  
**Your life of cruelty is at an end.** The voice that speaks is not Anders' own, it's much too deep and hollowed out. **You may have tamed the wolf and the bird but you can not tame Justice and I will see to it that you are punished for your crimes.**

  
Electricity crackles along Anders' hands as Justice summons all of his energy before rushing towards the Magister. He plans to electrocute him, make him suffer excruciating pain before the end.

  
Danarius smirks, but he doesn’t move. Fenris doesn’t even hesitate. The spell only has a couple seconds to connect with Fenris before Anders claims control over Justice, the shock of seeing his lover jump in the way is enough to give him the strength to take command and drop the spell before Justice can dig a hole through Fenris to get to Danarius. 

  
Fenris collapses immediately to one knee, spasming violently, but he grips the arm of Danarius’ chair and surges to his feet, striking Anders across the fact with the back of his hand so hard that he hits the ground, the force amplified by the lyrium glowing in Fenris’ veins and nearly dislocating Anders jaw. 

  
“You will not attack master,” he says, his voice shuddering with the aftershocks of electricity as his hair lifts up in a static cloud. “I _will_ kill you.”

  
Anders' hair is a yellow cobweb across the stones, blood drips from his split lip and already bruising jaw. The glowing blue light sputters and dies, leaving honey brown to gaze up at the elf with wide eyed fear.

  
 **You have doomed us both, Anders. Your love for the wolf has doomed us both to a cage**. Justice's voice echoes in his head but he pointedly ignores it, he knows the spirit's thoughts on love. **He who now subjugates you has made you weak.**

  
Anders struggles to sit up, the force of that backhand had knocked him senseless. He opens his mouth to speak but all that whispers past his lips is a whimper as his jaw pops and grinds. A hand cups his cheek, vision blurred as he gazes at Fenris' visage. 

  
"We could have been free. You don't know what you've done." He finally manages to whisper.

  
“What an exciting morning,” Danarius says conversationally, and in that moment Anders realizes he planned for this. He knew it was going to happen, and he wanted it to. He wanted Anders to attack him, to see that Fenris would stop him. Another power move for Danarius. Give the mage his magic back while he knows he can’t use it against him. It’s brilliant, honestly, and diabolical. 

  
And then he witnesses something that makes his stomach turn. A moment of tenderness between the master and Fenris, as he offers the wounded warrior a hand, and beckons him to his side.

  
“Are you hurt terribly, Fenris?” he asks, in a tone that sounds so sincere even Anders can’t tell if he’s faking it. 

  
“Not so badly I can’t fight if I need to,” Fenris replies, though there’s still a jump in some of his muscles now and then. “It would have been easier with my armor.”

  
“I know. It’ll be finished with repairs tomorrow,” Danarius says. “Do you think you can subdue the mage for one day until you have your armor?”

  
“Easily,” Fenris replies. 

  
“That’s what I like to hear,” Danarius squeezes Fenris’ hand and then releases him. “Show Benesol around the grounds, familiarize him with the area. And then meet with me for supper, I have a special treat for you to celebrate your wellness.”

  
“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” Fenris nods, and Anders sees a real flicker of hope and excitement in his expression as he turns to him. “On your feet mage, the estate is large and there is much to see.”

  
Anders has been played well, his gaze turns deadly when the two share a tender moment. He understands now, why Fenris would talk about having mixed feelings about Danarius. Why there were memories of good mingled into the bad that made it hard to just hate him. Anders never really understood, he’d hated the templars who imprisoned him all his life, outright and wholly hated him, and before he understood Fenris, part of him had thought it made Fenris weak, that he wasn’t able to hate Danarius completely. But now, seeing this, he understands. It wasn't simply being outwitted that has him in a spiral, but jealousy rearing it's ugly head. The damage would have been worse if he hadn't stopped it, Justice would have tried to kill Fenris if it meant the end of Danarius.

  
Disgust wrinkles his features to see the hope and excitement in Fenris' face, whatever the Magister had planned would not be as pleasurable as that hopeful face thought. Anders manages to pull himself to his feet, legs quivering as he forced himself not to buckle under the immense amount of stress and pain. 

  
Out of spite, he gathers as much saliva and blood as he can in his mouth before spitting it at Danarius' feet. Anders glares at him through furrowed brows, anger is all he can muster to survive. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying or begging, Anders would only give him trouble. 

  
"I doubt there's much to see." Anders replies to the elf, turning his weary face towards the door. "Gold coated shit is still shit."

  
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Fenris snaps the moment they’re out in the hall, and he grabs Anders by the front of his tunic. “Unless you’d like a bruise on the other side to match. Danarius has been more than generous, more than welcoming, more than you deserve. Perhaps your last master let you get away with mouthing off, but here we respect our master, or so help me I will put your head through a wall, are we understood?”

  
Anders leans in to whisper back, the anger in his eyes as clear as the heat in his face. "If you did, you'd ruin your master's game and I think we both know what the punishment would be for that." It's clearly a challenge, he's too angry too be afraid and too exhausted to care. He refuses to be a chess piece played by Danarius until he gets bored and changes the rules again.

  
“You are my property,” Fenris reminds him in a low hiss. “That means I get to do whatever I want to you. Danarius knows what he did by giving you over to me, it means that whatever I do to you is automatically justified because you belong to me. If I kill you for insubordination, it’s my right as a slave owner.”

  
It’s equal parts heartbreaking and infuriating to hear him talk like this. For Anders to be back in a position like this unmakes all of the progress he made for his own freedom and the freedom of all mages over the years, it feels fundamentally opposite to everything he’s worked for since escaping the circle. But also, hearing Fenris talk like this, Anders is so acutely aware of everything the elf has been through himself, everything he’s been told all his life, all the lies and abuse he’s been fed until he was complacently numb. 

  
Anders refused to become the same, he would not give in to the Magister as he did not give in to the Circle. His whole life was a series of being told to keep his head down and behave, and he never did it before and he won't start now. It hurts to see Fenris like this, to hear him threaten the blond without a moments hesitation. 

  
"So, do it." He hisses back. "Punish me for my insubordination, belittle me like he has done to you but I warn you." Anders flicks a glance towards the door curiously. "He won't be as calm about it as you seem to think he will be. He's enjoying his little game that he's crafted so well. Killing me would mean the end of it. I know what men like him want and destroying the board before he finishes the play will cause problems."

  
“I may be punished for it, but I have endured punishments the likes of which you could not imagine,” Fenris spits. “Pain is temporary, pain is always temporary, but putting up with you for the rest of my life is starting to look permanent, so unless you shape up and change my mind, I may recalculate the pain of punishment against the suffering of _you.”_

  
Anders' jaw clenches tight, it's obvious that he wants to say more. He wants to scream or cry, perhaps both but neither is appropriate for now. He'll hold on to his anger and use it later. The blond breathes in deep, attempting to calm himself until he can bury his anger deep. Anders knows he'll need to stay collected if he wants to devise a plan, something that will get them both out of here alive. The first priority is getting Fenris to remember everything, it will be difficult but with magic, it will be possible.  
  



End file.
